


(Just Like) Starting Over

by georgygirl



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bottom Tony Stark, Drama & Romance, Frenemies Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson, Getting Back Together, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Self-Sacrificing Steve Rogers, Sexual Content, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-21 03:57:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11935833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/georgygirl/pseuds/georgygirl
Summary: Seven years ago, Steve broke up with Tony because he thought it was the Right Thing to Do™ for both of them.But he never asked Tony.And now it's seven years later, and Tony has decided to very publicly remind Steve of a promise he made to him once upon a time.Or, Steve and Tony dated in college, broke up, and now Tony wants Steve back again.





	1. But When I See You, Darlin'

**Author's Note:**

> _**NOTE :** This is a temporary re-post of a story that was uploaded to the Archive earlier this year. This should be almost identical to the story that was posted, though some of the chapter notes may have been edited or deleted because they are no longer relevant. Everything else should be the same save for some wonky formatting that occurred when I was converting various file formats. I've tried to fix it as best as I can, but I may have missed a few places here and there._
> 
> * * *
> 
> _Original note:_
> 
>  
> 
> This has been sitting on my hard drive for well over a year now, and thus, it probably contains some elements (especially regarding Maria) that aren't accepted fanon any longer.
> 
> Also, some referenced instances of homophobic language from Howard and Obie.
> 
> Oh, and also includes a pretty bad (but thankfully brief) sex scene. You've been warned.

* * *

The text came when Steve was crossing the threshold to his small apartment after suffering through his Thursday afternoon art history class, the one filled with bored seniors looking for an easy elective.

_CNN.com. Something you might want to see._

It was from Sam, and Sam was usually a little less cryptic and a little more detailed than that. He sighed and dropped his phone and his keys on the table by the door. He didn't really have time for this. He'd run the class a little late if only to torment those seniors that thought they'd be able to breeze through the class with no effort, and he didn't have much time in between that and heading up to the museum for his evening security shift.

He shucked his clothes on the way to his bedroom to grab his uniform, passing by the landline phone next the couch. The little red light was blinking, and he fought the urge to smirk and mutter that there was nothing wrong with a thirty-something-year-old man having a landline in this day and age. It came in handy every so often.

He hit the button to play the message and all but groaned as he heard Clint's voice come over the line.

_"First, you're such a loser for having this. Second, dude, you gotta check out the news. No, don't ask why. Just do it. You'll know it when you find it. Trust me."_

There were no messages after that, and Steve rolled his eyes and went into the bedroom. He didn't really have time to check, but he logged into his computer situated on the desk in the corner then went about getting into his uniform as his desktop and icons loaded. He'd probably have to look into getting a new computer one of these days, but given a choice between eating and faster internet access, he'd have to say he'd choose the eating every time.

The damned thing finally loaded after he'd gotten his shirt and pants on, and he opened the browser and went to CNN like Sam had suggested. He scrolled down the page and grumbled a little when nothing jumped out at him.

"This some sort of prank?" he muttered and scrolled up the page again. That was when he saw it — a headline featured on the left-hand side: _Wedding Bells for Tony Stark?_

Steve felt the bottom fall out of his stomach, and the pointer on the mouse shook as he tried to maneuver it over the link to click. He didn't know why it should bother him. It had been years since he'd last seen Tony, and he wouldn't exactly say their breakup had been amicable, but some stupid little voice in the back of his head had urged him time and again not to let his torch burn out. They were young and dumb and things could change for the better.

Evidently not.

He clicked the link and waited for the page to load, the most tortuous ten seconds of his life. But when it did, he wished he could go back in time and stop any of this stupid stuff from ever happening.

_Tony Stark Hints at Wedding Bells to Come_ read the splash at the top, and below that was a stunning recent picture of the billionaire, who looked fit, and trim, and tanned, decked out in a black suit and burgundy dress shirt that had probably cost the equivalent of a month's salary for Steve — from _both_ his jobs. His eyes were shielded by a pair of tinted glasses, wire frames and rose-colored lenses. The van dyke he was fond of sporting now was clipped and trimmed and so perfectly sculpted it was as though he had drawn it on. He was smiling — downright grinning — a hand in the air as he waved at a camera (but not the one that had taken this photograph) and the elegant and gorgeous Pepper Potts adorned in a stunning royal blue dress standing right by his side.

He didn't bother to read the article. He clicked the link for a related video, and he got up and finished getting dressed as he waited for it to load, pausing the video so he wouldn't have to suffer through it buffering every two seconds. He tightened his belt, clipped his tie, buttoned his cuffs, brushed his hair, and grabbed his name badge, all before the video had even loaded halfway.

Figuring that was good enough, and checking his watch to make certain he wasn't running short on time, he clicked the 'play' button and waited for the video to begin.

_"Are wedding bells about to ring for Tony Stark?"_ the anchor whose name was completely lost on Steve said before the clip cut to footage of the previous night's Stark Foundation gala while an announcer read over the images, _"Tony Stark, one of the world's most eligible bachelors, may soon be off the market if comments made at last night's Stark Foundation fundraiser are any indication."_

It then cut to someone asking Tony how he felt about the Supreme Court's recent ruling in favor of same-sex marriage. And Tony, in the flippant fashion Steve remembered he'd always used in public — especially when he had a microphone shoved in his face — said, _"It's great. I think it's really, really great. It's about time we joined the civilized world, and in fact—"_ He looked straight into the camera and pulled his glasses down some, making those gorgeous brown eyes of his visible to one and all. _"Steve, if you're watching this, I believe you owe me a ring."_

The narration continued with more footage of the event and speculation as to what Tony's comments meant, but Steve just sat back, floored and speechless.

Maybe it was a joke.

Maybe it was for another Steve. Maybe it was a coincidence.

Or maybe — _maybe_ — Tony hadn't gotten over him any more than he'd gotten over Tony. As the video played, a conversation from a lifetime ago began to repeat itself in his mind.

_"What do you think about us getting married?"_

_"I don't think we can, Tony. Legally, anyway."_

_"We can in Massachusetts."_

_"I don't think we're legal residents of Massachusetts."_

_"We're going to school here. That's got to count for something!"_

_"I think we have to be residents here for a set amount of time, anyway."_

_"So? Are you saying I'm not worth becoming a legal resident of Massachusetts for the precise amount of time it takes to be issued a marriage license by the Commonwealth?"_

_"Um … could you repeat that?"_

_A smack. "Try to keep up, old man."_

_A laugh. "You know, I'm really not that much older than you."_

_"Old enough to buy me alcohol."_

_"Which I will not be doing."_

_"You're going to deny me alcohol at my own wedding?"_

_"By the time we can get married, you'll be old enough to buy your own alcohol."_

_A pause. "But would you really marry me?"_

_"Are you asking?"_

_"Maybe."_

_"Yes or no?"_

_Another pause. "Yes."_

_A hum. "Maybe."_

_"Maybe?"_

_"Well, it's a big decision. A fella's only gonna get married once in his life."_

_"A fella from the '40s, maybe. Seriously, how did I get stuck with such an old man?"_

_"You mean how did you get so lucky?"_

_"You're going to be the death of me, Rogers."_

_"I sincerely hope not. I've gotten used to having you around."_

_Another smack, a pause, and then an unsure, "But would you?"_

_"What?"_

_"Marry me? Not saying today, but...someday, maybe, in the future?"_

_"How 'bout this? The day it becomes legal across the country is the day I marry you — What? Where are you—? Tony, what are you doing?"_

_"Well, clearly you're not as serious about this relationship as I am—"_

_"Come here, you little bag of nuts."_

_A squawk._

_"Oh, that didn't hurt!"_

_"The hell it didn't! You're a lot stronger than you think you are. What do you bench-press? Buicks?"_

_"I didn't say I wouldn't marry you, Tony. But I will definitely marry you the day it becomes legal all over the country, if not before then."_

_"So … that's a 'yes'?"_

_"That's most definitely a 'yes.'"_

_"Just so you know, I'm going to hold you to that."_

_A hum. "Hopefully you won't have to. Hopefully we'll be married long before then."_

A nice thought that never panned out. The sole heir to Stark Industries and the young orphan that was working to pay off his mother's debts might have looked like a good match on paper — young and attractive with similar interests and an identical drive to bring out the best in each other — but real life never went that smoothly. Tony's world was one that Steve would never be welcome in, and while Tony was more than welcome in Steve's, he could never truly leave his world behind. While Howard was still alive and still running the company, sure. Tony could fuck off to do what he wanted — build, create, enjoy life with the first real friends he'd ever actually made.

But when Howard died, Tony was suddenly heir-apparent, and building and creating and spending time with friends had to be set aside so that Tony could be properly groomed to take over the company that bore his name. And though he oh-so-politely told Obadiah Stane to 'fuck off' when Stane told him no one wanted a fag running the company, Steve wasn't about to let Tony choose between wealth and poverty. He loved Tony. He would gladly have married Tony.

But he loved him enough to let him go.

It hadn't been an easy decision to make. He'd suffered through it, labored through it, run through the pros and cons of it in his head. The only 'pro' he could see to it was that Tony would get the life he deserved, not what little Steve could give him. It was odd that Howard didn't seem bothered by him in the least. Maybe he figured Tony was just going through an experimental period and Steve was but one in a long line of 'phases' he had to suffer through. Not to say Howard had _liked_ him. The first thing Howard had ever said to him the first time he'd met him — a Thanksgiving holiday break that Steve had opted to spend with Tony's family instead of Bucky's for the first time since his mother had died — Howard had shook his hand, looked him over, and said, " _Well, you're probably as dumb as a post, but at least you're pretty. Tony has a weakness for pretty_."

He'd had every intention of defending Tony's honor, but Tony had just put a hand to his arm and shook his head as though to say it wasn't worth it.

Maria had been cordial to him, but it was the family's butler…or cook…or valet… handyman?...pretty much the one that took care of them, Edwin Jarvis, that had been not only polite to him but _kind_ to him, asking about his studies and how he and Young Sir had met and what he planned to do once he'd gotten his degree. In fact, Tony also gravitated toward Jarvis while they spent that weekend in the Stark mansion on Fifth Avenue (good god, his mother would never believe he'd snagged himself a fella that came from Fifth Avenue), and it seemed that Jarvis was almost a surrogate father to Tony, treating him with the warmth and authority normally afforded an actual father.

He suspected, later on when Howard, Maria, and Jarvis had all died in that horrible wreck, that Tony mourned the loss of Jarvis more than he mourned both his parents.

But Howard and Maria had tolerated him, maybe not liked him, but never actually made him feel like he was an interloper. Part of him suspected it was because so long as he was there, Tony would leave them alone, and it hurt to think that Tony's entire existence was merely due to the fact that Howard would need an heir to pass his company to. Tony had been born simply to run a company, and for nothing more.

Still, it was Obadiah Stane that had set him on edge, had always looked at him with equal parts distrust and disgust. When Howard was alive, it was no big deal. Howard still owned and ran the company, and Stane had no power or authority over him. When Howard died and Stane stepped in as intermediary, suddenly Steve noticed a change. He even noticed it about Tony — the contemplative looks Tony would sometimes give him like he was trying to figure him out, and Steve could only wonder if Stane, who was the other real father-figure in Tony's life, was filling his head with stupid notions that he was only with Tony for his money.

Look, he'd met Tony at a party and hadn't had the foggiest idea of who he was. He'd been considering chucking it all in and telling Thor and Bucky and Sam that he was done for the night and was heading out — in fact, he was clear on his way over to telling them that — when he'd bumped into a short, lithe brunette in a hoodie trying to balance three cups of Sam Adams in his grasp. The beer had sloshed all over his sweatshirt, and the shorter man had said, " _Watch it! What do you think this is? Coors Light?_ "

And then he'd looked up, and Steve had been gobsmacked by the most beautiful brown eyes he'd ever seen, big and sharp and framed with inky black lashes. Pretty Eyes seemed equally smitten by him, his mouth going slack as he raked his eyes over Steve's form, but Steve, not wanting to get off on the wrong foot, had just said, " _I'll pay — to clean your sweatshirt, I mean. I'll pay._ "

And Pretty Eyes had just snorted a laugh and said, " _It's beer. It'll wash out. You, on the other hand — I haven't seen you around here before."_

" _I don't normally come to these things_."

" _Me neither_." And then he'd tossed the half-emptied cups aside — oh, that poor, trashed frat house that had, once upon a time, been an elegant Victorian — grabbed hold of Steve's arm, and added, " _So what do you say you and I commiserate in our misery of these horrible things together?_ "

He never gave Steve a chance to answer 'yes' or 'no.' He just dragged him out, away from his friends, away from the party, and out onto the streets at eleven-thirty at night where they strolled in the muggy early fall darkness and talked about everything under the sun. He found out Pretty Eyes's real name was 'Tony.' He was studying engineering. He liked to build robots and listen to old-school rock. He had a weakness for jelly doughnuts. He didn't have a good relationship with his father. Steve, in turn, told Tony about himself. He told him his name, that he was studying art, that he was struggling with whether or not to join the military, that he was an orphan that was going to school on scholarships and loans that were just being added to the medical bills left over from his mother's treatments (that clearly hadn't worked).

It was easy talking to Tony. He'd never found it so easy to talk to anyone. And Tony didn't know him, so there was no pressure to be anything but himself. Not like with his friends that expected certain things of him—

The most annoying sound in the world pulled him from his memories, and he sat at attention and shook his head, and he looked down at his phone to see the alarm he'd set for himself. Shit. Good thing he'd set it. He'd hate to be late for work at the museum. Again.

He jumped up and snatched his phone, leaving the browser open to the page about Tony Stark and his bid for matrimony. Whatever Tony was up to, it was not going to end with the cracks in his heart being repaired. Not after all this time.

~*~

"So, did you see it?"

Steve sighed as he set his brown-bagged lunch down on the security station's counter. "See what?" he asked a too-excited Sam. Bucky just rolled his eyes and muttered, "Oh, _that_."

"You know what, man. I sent you the text — and I _know_ Clint left a message on your machine. You know you're the only person under eighty with a landline, right?"

"I am not the only person under eighty with a landline," he told Sam then directed to Bucky, "Sign me in, would you?"

"Sign yourself in, punk," he said and kicked away from the desk with his foot, rolling the chair away from the computer terminal.

Steve rolled his eyes then came around the station and grabbed a chair. "Did you seriously not see it?" Sam asked as Steve logged in his info.

"See what?" he reiterated.

"He saw it," Bucky said. "He's playing dumb. He's a shit liar. He'd be asking more questions if he really didn't know what you were talking about."

Steve shot a look at Bucky then got up and grabbed his lunch. "I'll be right back."

"Shoulda got that done before you logged in, Stevie! Slacking off on the company's time!" Bucky called out to him as Steve made his way to the employee break-slash-lunchroom. He nodded 'hello' at some docents working the late shift, smiled at a few tourists, made his way past the atrium and down the solemn, windowless corridor toward the employee area.

It was quieter down here, the sounds of the public areas upstairs not even a distant echo. There was the buzz of the overhead lights and the hum of the snack and soda machines, and he exchanged pleasantries with one of the afternoon janitors that had probably been working here since before Steve was born. He went into the lunchroom and stowed his bag in the fridge that hadn't been cleaned out in probably five years or more, and he spotted Bucky's lunch on a shelf with a yellow post-it attached to it reading _Fuck off, Wilson. Pudding cup is mine_.

Natasha must have packed that lunch for him. He got oddly defensive when it came to her.

He shut the fridge and checked his watch. His shift didn't technically start for another ten minutes, and he thought about bringing up that video on his phone — the one where Tony had looked dead into the camera and said Steve owed him a ring. It didn't mean anything; he knew it didn't mean anything.

But it was nice to pretend it meant something — even if just for a moment.

He shook his head and decided it would be better to go bullshit with Bucky and Sam. Sam would nag him about the video, but if he kept quiet enough about it, Sam would eventually give up just because he wasn't getting the desired response. Bucky…he didn't know about Bucky. Bucky, oddly, had all but taken Tony's side in the breakup, and he remembered Bucky just shaking his head at him and saying, _"Whatever, pal. Dumbest fucking mistake you've ever made, but it's your life."_

He made his way back to the security station, where Bucky and Sam were in the middle of a heated argument over the merits of turning video games into feature-films, with Sam extolling the virtues of modern computer graphics while Bucky was sneering and reminding him that _no one_ wanted to see movies about video games.

"Look, you think anyone's going to want to watch a movie about _The Legend of Zelda_?" he asked as Steve took a seat and began his nightly routine of going over call-sheets, complaints, and checks.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm not saying it has to be _The Legend of Zelda_ — no, wait! That could be awesome! With the state of computer graphics today? Hyrule would look _awesome_ on screen!"

"The fact that you remember the place is even called that—"

Sam scoffed. "Get off your high horse. I remember some pretty fierce competitions in college, and I distinctly remember you throwing the controller so hard that it cracked the picture tube."

"I was so _fucking_ close! And one of those stupid fucking fish-things got me!" Bucky cried out, and Steve just shook his head and tried to concentrate on his job. He'd been there that night. He'd almost cried because it was his TV Bucky had broken and none of them had had the money to replace it.

Well, except Tony. Who'd gone and not just bought him another TV but had bought one of those expensive flat-screens. Clint, upon seeing the brand-new TV set up in the shitty apartment Steve shared with Sam and Bucky, had just squeezed Steve's shoulders and said, " _Never, ever let him go_."

"I think we were the only college students playing old-school _Nintendo_ games," Bucky said.

"What?" Sam said with a laugh. "None of us could have afforded a Playstation."

Bucky shrugged. "None of us except Stevie's boyfriend."

Steve rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"Yeah, except he seemed to be just as happy with our lame-ass Nintendo marathons," Sam said. Bucky nodded in agreement, and Steve groaned and sat back in his chair.

"Is there a point to any of this?" he nearly snapped at them, smacking a pen down on the desk that he'd been using to jot notes with. He looked between Sam and Bucky's expectant faces, and he sighed out another groan and said, " _Yes_ , I saw the video. Now, can we stop talking about it?"

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Because it doesn't _mean_ anything, all right? He probably wasn't even talking about me."

"Is there any possible way at all he _could_ have been talking about you?" Sam asked. "Is it a reference to anything you two had talked about?"

Steve went quiet, pursing his lips and shifting his gaze down to the desk so he wouldn't have to look at either of his friends, and Bucky muttered, "I knew it," then added, "What, Stevie? What's it about?"

"Nothing."

"Yeah? Bullshit. What's it about?"

"Does it matter?" he asked, glancing between his friends. "It was years ago. It doesn't mean anyth— _He_ wanted that breakup as much as I did. Well, no, I didn't _want_ it, but I had to— Look, he didn't want to hurt my feelings. He wanted to be the nice guy, so he let me break up with him. He looked almost _relieved_ when I did it."

Bucky and Sam exchanged somewhat perplexed and worrying looks, and Steve looked between them and said, "What?"

"I think we gotta tell him," Sam said, but Bucky shook his head. "No, he doesn't need to know."

"I think he does."

"No, let him live in his delusion."

"What?" Steve asked. "What delusion? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, man," Bucky said just as Sam said, "What happened that night—"

Bucky pointed a finger at Sam. "Don't say anything."

But Sam shook his head and said, "Nah, man, it's time. We gotta tell him."

Steve glanced between Sam and Bucky, Bucky shot daggers at Sam, but he exhaled an annoyed breath through his nose and turned to Steve.

"You really think that idiot wanted to break up with you? Really? Let me tell you, the night you broke up with him, when you fucked off to god-knows-where, three o'clock in the morning, your little boyfriend shows up at the doorstep, crying, begging us to tell him what he did wrong."

"What?" Steve asked, but Bucky continued unabated.

"I guess 'cause we're your best pals, he thinks we'd know this sort of thing. I sat there until six- thirty with him sobbing snot into my shoulder all because of you."

Steve looked to Sam for confirmation, and Sam shrugged and said, "I was half-asleep, but yeah, that's how I remember it."

Steve looked between Sam and Bucky, and he stuttered out a few confused non-replies before he all but sputtered, " _What?_ Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Bucky shrugged. "Didn't seem important. You'd already made your mind up about what was best for the two of you. He moved on, you moved on, thought it would be the end of the story."

Sam raised an eyebrow at Bucky. "He moved on?"

Bucky made an airy motion with his hand. "Sort of," he conceded. "There was…what was his name? Phil."

"Yeah, he was a nice guy."

"Eh, came on a little strong," Bucky countered. "Sharon, but that got weird when it turned out she was Peggy's cousin."

"Still a sandwich I wouldn't have said 'no' to being in the middle of," Sam said, and Bucky gently fist-bumped him in agreement.

"Uh…and, who else— Wasn't there an Arnie guy for a while?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "No, we were just friends."

"Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?" Sam mused. "Oh, hey! What about that German grad student? What was his name?"

"Johann," Bucky said. "Didn't he have that awful skin condition?"

"Hey, man, don't hold that against him."

"No, I won't hold that against him. I'll hold against him that he was a perverted creep with a weird bondage fetish."

"As opposed to the _non-_ weird kind of bondage fetish?" Sam mused.

Bucky shot a knowing look at Sam. "Don't knock it 'til you try it," he said, and Sam shook his head and sat back from the group.

"More about your relationship with Nat than I ever wanted to know."

Bucky grinned licentiously then sobered as he turned back to Steve. "Seriously, that was an abusive relationship waiting to happen. Severed body parts stuffed into garbage bags and strewn along the highway. Head in the freezer. Pretty sure that's how that relationship would have ended. Your body parts, not his."

Steve made a sour face at the thought. Although, nothing that Bucky had said pinged false to him. Schmidt had been a pushy, obstinate sort, and Steve's fight-or-flight instincts had always reared up whenever the guy was around, which had been often given that both he and Steve were doing graduate course work, their schedules often overlapped, and Schmidt had taken a weird sort of liking to him.

"Thanks, Buck. And nothing ever happened with Schmidt."

Well, not too much. Look, he'd been on the rebound, was missing Tony like crazy, and there was a weird and masochistic part of him that thought he deserved nothing more than whatever weird shit Schmidt had planned for him. Candle wax burned like a bitch, as it turned out.

Bucky shivered. "Thank fuck," he said, and Steve vowed then and there never to admit the truth to him. "Guy gave me the creeps. Anyway, my point is—"

"You had a point?" Steve mused with a slight smile.

Sam just shook his head, and Bucky pursed his lips in annoyance and said, "See, it's things like this why you're still single."

"No, it isn't."

"No, it isn't," Bucky amended. "It's because you're still hung up on a guy that _you dumped_. Seven years ago, Stevie. Seven years. The grand total of all your relationships since then have amounted to—" He looked at Sam. "What'd we figure?"

Sam tilted his head in thought. "Two weeks?"

Bucky nodded and made a 'there you go' motion at Steve. Steve just shook his head. "What's the point of all this?"

"That it's time you got over that guy no matter what he's telling the press."

Steve scoffed and sat back in his chair. "Doesn't matter. It was just a joke, anyway. He didn't mean it. He probably wasn't even talking about me. He probably doesn't even remember me."

"He does."

All three jumped and turned to see Natasha standing on the other side of the security desk, her makeup a little worn from a full day of wear, but the scarlet waves that cascaded past her shoulders looked like they'd just been set an hour ago. She braced her hands on the dark granite desk then leaned over and kissed her fiancé 'hello,' the silk of her royal blue dress reflecting off the warm lights from above, the diamond pendant necklace Bucky had given her on one of their anniversaries catching in the light, which matched the sheen from the tasteful diamond on her left ring finger.

Steve and Sam exchanged 'hellos' with her after the happy couple had finished their greeting, and once they had, Sam asked, "What do you mean he does?"

She folded her arms on the granite top and leaned her weight onto her elbows. "You remember who I work for, right?"

"Nat's Pepper Potts's PA, remember?" Bucky said then turned to her. "OK, 'fess up. What sort of dirt did you get?"

She shrugged. "Nothing much. Pepper wasn't in a very good mood because Tony went spouting that off last night, so every Tom, Dick, and Harry that thinks he's Tony's 'Steve' was harassing the company today—"

"She's the CEO. She doesn't have to deal with that shit, does she?" Sam asked.

"Not directly, but she hears about it — mostly from Tony."

"Does she know you know the real Steve?"

"Not as such."

"Does Tony even know you work there?" Bucky asked.

She shrugged. "He's seen me once or twice, but I don't think he recognizes me."

Bucky grinned and reached out to take her hand. "Yeah, last he saw of you I think was during your misguided emo-goth-chick phase," he said as he played with her fingers.

She shrugged but didn't defend herself against or deny Bucky's accusations. It was hard to when there were photographs.

"So, was Tony serious about it?" Sam asked, and Natasha shrugged as she let Bucky play with her hand.

"Seems to be. Guess he never got over Steve the same as Steve never got over him."

Steve rolled his eyes and stifled a groan, but Bucky turned to him and said, "I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. You two are fucking idiots."

"Yeah, man," Sam said and smacked his arm. "You know how loaded he is now? You could be living the high life in Manhattan, not slumming it in the last non-gentrified part of Brooklyn!"

Steve sniffed derisively and said, "I'm not going to sit here and be insulted about where I live by people that have actually chosen to live in _New Jersey_."

He was treated to all sorts of excuses by that, from Sam's _It's cheaper_ to Bucky's _It's safer_ to Natasha's _It's actually a really nice town_. He rolled his eyes at all three of them and shook his head at their misguided notions.

You couldn't _pay him_ enough to live in New Jersey.

He must have ignored them for far too long because the next thing he knew, Natasha was leveling a serious look at Bucky and telling him to be on his best behavior tonight.

"When am I ever not?" came his cocky reply, and she swatted at him, but there was a teasing and fond smile on her lips as she did so. She muttered something in Russian — probably one of the few words she remembered from the college Russian she'd taken — and Bucky replied in much the same way, and Steve had to suppress a laugh at the blind leading the blind. Natasha's Russian was probably as good as his German—

Which had actually been enough to impress Johann all those years ago. He shivered. There was a memory path best left undisturbed. OK, maybe more had happened with him than he'd been willing to admit even to himself. Look, he…hadn't been in a good place at that time.

"Why?" Sam asked. "Who are we trying to impress?"

"I was telling Pepper about how James and I are getting married in the atrium, and I was telling her how beautiful it was, and she's been looking at venues for her upcoming wedding with Happy—" She directed a knowing look at Bucky. "—who's head of security," she said, her tone leading.

Bucky sat back and shook his head. "I told you, I am fine where I am. Unruly five-year-olds on a school trip and asshole teenagers looking for a place to make out are about as stressful a level as I'm willing to handle."

Natasha pursed her lips at Bucky, her eyes flat, and Steve knew that wasn't the end of the conversation, but she turned back to Sam and continued, "Anyway, Pepper's looking for wedding venues, and I was telling her about this one. She was intrigued, so I told her to stop by and I'd show her around."

Bucky sighed out a groan. "And don't tell me. Happy — and what the hell kind of a name is 'Happy'? — is stopping by, too, and he's got a whole speech lined up about how great an opportunity it is to work at Stark Industries and how much of a privilege it is and how great the retirement package and the benefits are."

"No. Happy has security work to deal with tonight."

Bucky 'tsked' and shook his head. "Doesn't even get the evening off."

"And incidentally, the benefits and retirement package _are_ to die for."

"My 401's chugging along nicely. And if not, there's always Social Security."

Sam snorted a laugh. "You know that's not going to be there for us when we get old, right? You know they'll have killed it by then."

Bucky grinned at him. "Then I guess Stevie'll have to make like the ninety-year-old that we all know he really is and write another letter to our rep demanding they not privatize it." He smacked Steve's arm. "Seems to have worked so far."

"I really don't think I'm the reason—" he started to say when Natasha cut in and said, "Oh, yeah, Stark's coming."

Steve's heart thudded hard against his breastbone, but he was able to get control over himself and scowl at Natasha. "Don't say it like that."

"No, dude," Sam said and pointed down the hallway. "He's coming, like, right this second."

Steve didn't even have time to look. Instinct took over, and with an almost comical series of thumps, he dove beneath the security desk and pulled his knees up to his chin, curling himself into a ball as he tried to make himself as small and inconspicuous and unseen as possible.

"If you rat me out, I'll never speak to either one of you again."

"How are we the losers in that scenario?" Bucky asked, but Sam just rolled his chair so that he was cornering Steve in and, hopefully, blocking him from any view.

He heard Natasha and Pepper Potts greet each other, and then Natasha was introducing Pepper to both Bucky and Sam. Tony still hadn't said a word, and maybe he wasn't actually there because he himself hadn't actually _seen_ Tony; he'd just taken both Natasha's and Sam's words for it.

And then, he heard it.

"Jesus fuck, _Barnes_?"

"There it is," Bucky said. "Long-time, no-see."

"Yeah, you…and Wilson? Uh, does this museum know it put _you two_ in charge of security? Christ, _Barton_ doesn't work here, too, does he?"

"Hey, I'll have you know our shift has the best safety rating going three years in a row," Bucky said. "And no, Clint's working for some other security firm."

"Which is a fancy way of saying he's a spy," Sam said.

"He's not a spy," Bucky said. "He just wants everyone to _think_ he's a spy. I think he actually works for Comcast."

" _Jesus_ ," Tony said with a horrified exhale of breath. "What'd he sell his soul or something?"

"That implies he had a soul to begin with," Bucky said, and the guys laughed (Steve noticed Natasha's laughter was conspicuously absent) before Natasha suggested that they go check out the atrium and Pepper agreed wholeheartedly with that suggestion.

"Come on, Tony," Steve heard an unfamiliar female voice say, which he took to be Pepper's, and Tony whined a little before Pepper added, "You can play with your friends later. You said you would help me with this."

"Fine," he muttered, then said, "See you later," and Steve heard the departing clack of three sets of expensive shoes against linoleum. He kept quiet and tucked into himself for a few more minutes, until both Bucky and Sam wheeled back from the desk and shot pointed looks at him. "Way to be strong, man," Sam said.

"You know I don't swing that way," Bucky said, "but your boy's looking fucking _fine_."

Steve rolled his eyes and scrambled up from his hiding spot. "Look, just cover me until he leaves, all right? He doesn't…he doesn't need to know."

"What?" Bucky said. "That you're too chickenshit to face him?"

"It's not that," Steve said as he sat back down in his chair and watched the monitors. He flipped through a couple and tried to find the trio, but they seemed to keep stepping out of view just as he hit the right camera. "It's just…it would be weird, all right? Especially after that joke of his from last night."

"Don't think it's a joke," Bucky said.

"It's a joke," Steve countered.

"And what if it wasn't?" Sam asked. Steve turned to him and went to say… _something_ …when Bucky said, "Oh, shit, he's coming back," and Steve's eyes went wide before he dove under the desk again, thumping his way back to his hiding spot.

Bucky burst out laughing, and Sam shook his head and said, "You're an ass, man," and Steve frowned between them and said, "He's not coming, is he?"

Sam nodded at the monitor. "He's over in the atrium with Nat and Potts. Seems to be more interested in whatever's on his phone than whatever Nat and Potts are discussing."

"He always did have the attention span of a flea," Bucky said, and Steve rolled his eyes and crawled out from under the desk again. "Seriously, pal," he added as Steve sat down in his chair again. "Way to throw yourself on a grenade. You're an inspiration to everyone everywhere."

"I don't think you can equate facing an ex with throwing yourself on a grenade to save someone," he said and glanced at the monitor where, true to Sam's word, Tony was standing beside Pepper and Nat and fiddling with this phone.

"Especially when you're the one that fucked up the relationship," Sam said, and Bucky nodded his solemn agreement.

Steve heaved out a sigh and stood up. "I'm going to get a coffee. You want anything?"

They both indicated they were fine, so Steve headed off toward the employee lounge, making sure to bypass anything remotely connected to the atrium. No sense in chancing a fate worse than death just to get away from Bucky and Sam's needling.

He found his way to the lounge, and he breathed sweet, sweet relief as he was left alone with the gentle hum of the fluorescent lights and the machines. His sweet-tooth nagged at him, and he went over to the vending machine and looked over his choices, settling on a Snickers just as someone else came into the room. He rolled his eyes and let out a silent sigh and figured it was either Sam or Bucky, but he said nothing and hoped they would get the hint to leave him alone. It wasn't fun being confronted with past mistakes, especially a mistake that had caused him so much heartache, a mistake he'd taken for doing the Right Thing.

He tried to catch a glimpse of the person in the reflection of the glass, but the lighting wasn't good

enough to catch the person, nor was the angle, so he settled for making his selection and pressed the buttons as he heard whoever it was pour himself a cup of coffee from the pot. Maybe it wasn't Bucky or Sam then? Wouldn't they have antagonized him by now?

"Ugh," the person said, "this shit has the consistency of motor oil. How can you stand it?"

Steve froze as the candy bar dropped down into the trough. Shit, shit, _shit_. How— how in the ever-loving fuck was he even _down_ here? Didn't he see the 'employees only' signs?

His heart raced so fast and beat so hard Steve thought it was about to burst right out of his chest, and he swallowed and took slow, measured steps to grab his chocolate bar and get the hell out of there without his companion noticing.

"I mean, I guess you don't have a choice," the voice from his past continued then went quiet as he took a sip. He hadn't turned around from the coffee machine yet, and Steve was _almost_ at the door when he added, "Ugh, tastes like motor oil, too— _not_ that I know what that tastes like. Too much. All right, I have a helper-bot that puts it in everything _including_ my protein shakes that I've kind of been subsisting on—"

He turned around, and Steve was caught just on the wrong side of the threshold, and he stopped, swallowed, and turned, unable to contort his face into anything other than the proverbial deer-in- the-headlights.

Tony, to his credit, didn't seem surprised in the least, and he put the Styrofoam cup to his mouth and took a sip before he smiled a little sheepishly and said, "Hi."

Steve could only nod, his gaze falling upon the gorgeous sight of the one that got away. The dark suit accentuated his lithe build, the van dyke lent itself to a certain sophistication, and there was something about the way he stood now, the way he carried himself that screamed power and prestige.

And yet.

And yet, Steve could see, underneath it all, the stubborn, baby-faced _wunderkind_ covered in grease smudges and faded band shirts, all messy-haired with dogged determination, bending the laws of nature to his will, demanding that science meet his needs. He saw a mad, impossible boy wanting to step out from under his father's shadow, wanting to break free of the world he was expected to seamlessly and silently slip into, a dreamer with visions of a better, safer, more prosperous world. Not 'Tony Stark,' just 'Tony.' _His_ Tony.

Tony made a face and a hesitant, guttural sound, and Steve was pulled out of his memories for the second time that day as Tony scratched the back of his head and said, "Uh, yeah, I wanted to, ah… Look, you, uh, you didn't happen to see the news within the last twenty-four hours, did you?"

He swallowed, his stomach doing a flip just as his heart sank down into it, and he put on his most placating and friendly face as he said, "Don't worry about it. It was a joke, right?"

Tony's eyes went wide a moment, like he hadn't expected Steve to say that, before a mask settled over his face, and he put on that phony smile that Steve could spot a mile away and always hated to see.

And he hated that, for the first time in his life, it was being directed at him.

"Yeah," Tony said with a laugh as phony as his smile. "Yeah, it was— You know I'm always trying to fuck with people. Thought it might get the press in a bit of a tizzy for a while. It's what I'm best at."

Steve started to nod then gave a curt shake of his head. "No," he said, like it was the definitive word on the matter. "No, it's not."

Tony scoffed. "Yeah, I think it is," he said and took another painful sip of his coffee, literally finishing with an 'ack' sound and sticking his tongue out in disgust.

"It's not," Steve said, forcing himself to ignore Tony's hammy exaggerations, those things that always amused him the most about Tony. "You're so much better than that. You always were."

And now some sort of sharpness slid over the mask, and there was an almost dangerous look about him as he said, one eyebrow raised, "Yeah? Well, no offense, but you kind of haven't been around me the last several years, so you're not exactly the best person to ask about it."

It was a defensive measure. Steve had seen Tony through enough good times and bad to know a patented Tony Stark Defensive Maneuver when he saw one, and rather than rising to the bait, he just nodded and said, "I know. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, you should be," Tony said in spite then blinked and frowned, his tone much more curious as he asked, "Wait, for what?"

"For not being there the past few years. For ending things the way I did— _how_ I did. I'm sorry, Tony. I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing for you. For both of us."

Tony just gazed at him, head tilted, lips parted slightly, Styrofoam cup halfway to his mouth. He watched as Tony's eyes scanned the breadth of his face, like he was trying to read him, trying to figure out if he was saying what he thought he was saying, and for a moment — for just a moment — Steve saw that protective shell crack. He saw the mask begin to slide off. He saw that wide- eyed and idealistic man he'd fallen in love with all those years ago.

But then he blinked, and the mask was back, and the shell was all patched up. He closed his mouth and swallowed, and he nodded and then shrugged a little.

"Yeah, well, look, it was your first romance, and who knows what they're doing at that age, you know? It's fine. Water under the bridge. No big deal."

But Steve took a breath, and the Snickers bar going soft in his warm hand, even through the wrapper, he stepped closer to Tony and shook his head ever-so-slightly.

"No, it's not. It wasn't. It was a big deal. I'm sorry, Tony. I thought… Doesn't matter what I thought. The point is I hurt you, I know now that I hurt you, and I'm sorry. Nothing I ever say can make up for that. You asked me to marry you once. I said I would. And then I broke your heart because I thought letting you go was what you wanted. I thought you were just too afraid to be the bad guy."

Tony had shifted his gaze away from Steve as he talked, like he was unable to look at Steve while he listened to those words come out of his mouth, but his final words gave him pause, and suddenly Tony was looking at him, concern and confusion lining those tear-filled brown irises.

"What? Why? Why would you think that?"

He shrugged. "I don't—"

"No," Tony said and stepped closer, now resolute, the coffee left forgotten on the counter behind him. "Why would you think that? What made you think I wanted you to break up with me?"

Steve groaned a little and scratched at his forehead with his index and middle fingers, his ring and pinky holding onto the melting candy bar. "I don't… Look, it's not—"

"Did I say something? Did I tell you something? Was I not a good enough boyfriend—?"

Steve looked up in horror. "What? _No!_ No, of course you were—" He grimaced and groaned and dropped his hand back down to his side. "Look, it's nothing. Forget I said anything, and let's just let bygones be—"

"No," Tony said, fury in his eyes and jaw hardened. He folded his arms and added, "No, I want to know. What made you think I wanted to break up with you?"

Steve found his gaze locked into Tony's, and like so many times in the past, he found he couldn't look away. Tony was several inches shorter than he, but it was times like this, when Tony's fury reached its boiling point, that Steve felt Tony was more intimidating than even an eight-foot metal murder-bot could ever hope to be.

He swallowed and knew he had to choose his next words carefully because he wasn't about to let his last conversation with the one he would always love end in pain, accusation, and hate.

"I overheard Stane tell you that no one wanted some 'fag freak' running the company and how he couldn't believe that someone with my debts wasn't with you just for the money. I know you always trusted Stane, you looked up to him, and I noticed after that that you…seemed a little closed-off to me, like you were trying to figure out if maybe he was right. I didn't ever want you to think there was even a possibility that he could be, and so I…"

He left off what didn't need to be said, and he waited while Tony processed his, his chin wobbling like he was trying so very, very hard not to lose control of himself, and he blinked several times, averted his gaze, and then finally let out with the most venomous, " _Fuck you, Steve_ ," that he had ever heard in his life.

Tony dropped his arms and stormed out of the lunchroom, and Steve rolled his eyes and sighed and tossed the melted candy bar onto one of the lunch tables and took off after him. "Tony! Tony, wait!"

"No, Steve!" Tony yelled, spinning around on his heel and glaring at him. He marched right back up to him and jabbed him hard in the sternum with his pointer finger. "You don't get to do this, do you understand? You don't _get_ to somehow make this _my fucking fault!_ "

He winced away from the jabs and thought about rubbing his bruised sternum but fought the urge. "But it's _not_ your fault. Don't you get it? It's all me! It's all on me! I'm the one that jumped to a conclusion without talking to you! I'm the one that screwed up!"

"Yeah, because I wasn't the perfect boyfriend—"

"That's _not_ what I said—"

"Really? Because that's what it fucking sounds like, Steve."

Steve glanced around, and though they were in the bowels of the museum, Steve really didn't want to embarrass himself in front of any janitorial staff or other night workers.

"Look, Tony, I'm on the clock here. Could we do this later?"

"Why?" he asked and folded his arms tight against his chest. "Why should I allow you that favor?"

Steve swallowed again, and though he knew this could very well be his undoing, he knew with every fiber of his being that it was the absolute truth of the matter.

"Because I know you meant it when you looked into that camera and said I owed you a ring. And because all I want to do is cash in my life savings and buy you the best one I can afford."

That did it.

Tony's façade shattered. He dropped his arms from their defensive position over his chest, and he let his gaze rake over Steve's face for only a moment before he advanced on him, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and hauling him in for a bruising, passionate, wet and desperate kiss. Steve didn't even hesitate. He put his arms around Tony's smaller frame and kissed back, taking the advantage away as he plundered Tony's mouth, tasted him, held him in his arms and forced him to accept what Steve gave him, just like the old days. He felt Tony go a little lax at that, his knees bending the slightest, and he let go of Steve's shirt and slid his hands so that he had them on Steve's shoulders, allowing Steve to hold him and cradle him and take care of him like he did once upon a time.

Tony broke the kiss, slowly, like he was forcing himself not to be such a glutton, his eyes closed as his lips hovered by Steve's mouth, and quietly, like a prayer, he said, "Go out with me."

"OK," Steve said in the same gentle whisper. "When?"

"Now."

"Can't.  Gotta work."

Tony opened his eyes and pulled away from Steve's embrace at that. He licked his lips, tasting the last of Steve on his mouth, before he asked, "What time do you get off? And, no, that was not a bad innuendo."

He laughed a little at the fact that Tony had to insist that it wasn't innuendo — he didn't even think to take it as such — and said, "Midnight."

Tony eyed him over, and he nodded and said, "I see," before he turned and left, leaving Steve to wonder what in the hell had just happened.


	2. It's Like We Both Are Falling in Love Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: some D/s talk in this one by people that don't really have experience in it. Also maybe a little NSFW for a 'self-love' scene with Steve. Huh. I write him doing that a lot for some reason...

* * *

"Hey, uh," Bucky said as he arrived back at the security station, "look, you don't want people to know that you're Tony Stark's 'Steve'—" he used finger quotes on the name 'Steve,' "—maybe you don't make out with him in the middle of the hallway."

He sat down with a huff. "You were spying on me."

"Hell yeah! Stevie, I love you, but you're an idiot. Someone's got to make sure you're not doing something stupid like…throwing yourself out of a plane without a parachute."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Who would do that, man?"

"Oh, you don't think given half-a-chance this idiot wouldn't?"

He jerked a thumb at Steve to emphasize his point, and Sam turned to Steve and contemplated this a moment before he said, "Maybe off an overpass and onto a passing truck or something. Or maybe a burning ship or whatever."

Bucky made another 'there you go' motion at him and added, "What we're saying is you're reckless, Stevie. You're reckless with your body, and you're reckless with your emotions."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm far from reckless with my emotions."

"When it comes to Tony Stark you sure as shit are. Always were." He whistled and added, "Could you imagine if Stark was as much of a creepy fucker as that Johann Schmidt was?"

"I don't think I would have been with Tony if he was anything like Schmidt— And how do you even know that Schmidt was like that, anyway? He could have just been heavy into that…bondage and domination stuff."

Sure. It was just that. It wasn't anything more sinister than that. Thankfully, he hadn't stuck around long enough to find out.

Bucky merely shot him a _look_. "You know you'd be the one wearing the collar, right?"

Jesus, Johann had made allusions to that, and Steve hadn't liked in the least the way he'd looked as he'd said it.

"Oh, don't even pretend to look horrified at the very thought. Here, lemme paint a picture for you." He grinned a little and leaned closer. "You, putting a collar on your boy, Tony."

Steve swallowed and tried very hard not to imagine that. After his less-than-consensual experience with Johann, hadn't really thought himself to be into that kind of play. He knew Bucky and Natasha were (and he kind of suspected that Bucky wasn't the 'dominant' in the relationship, either, or, at the very least, they switched back-and-forth), but he had never thought he would be. Not that he was _vanilla_. OK, not that he was _too_ vanilla, but Tony was, too. Maybe more than he was. Steve was always the one to have brought up the more adventurous bedroom routines, not Tony. Tony went along with them, and Tony usually ended up liking them, but Steve was the one that would bring them up, that would assure Tony that it would be OK and they would enjoy it and that Tony could say 'no' whenever he wanted to.

OK, maybe there'd been a bit more of that dominance stuff in their relationship than he'd allowed himself to admit at the time.

"Him on his knees," Bucky continued, and Steve's gaze shot over to him in horror, begging him to shut his fucking mouth.

He didn't.

"Leashed, arms tied up behind his back, trussed up in a tight harness, some kind of ball-gag in his mouth— _No!_ That kind that keeps his mouth open so you can fuck his face and he can't fucking say 'boo'—"

" _Dude!_ " Sam said, and Steve could hear the disgust coming through as though Bucky had drawn up a mental image for him that he just wasn't in the mood to see. Or he thought he could hear it, anyway, as most of his thoughts were elsewhere, and most of his blood had drained from one head down to the other. He closed his eyes and swallowed, feeling himself getting harder by the moment, unable to keep himself from imagining Tony that way, bound, gagged, kneeling before him like some sort of willing slave to Steve's most carnal desires.

He adjusted himself in the chair and tried to cover up the sudden stiffness plaguing his cock, eyes closed and face flushing with the heat of want. Sam was muttering something at Bucky, and Bucky was laughing and saying something about how this was the most excitement Steve had gotten in months, and even though he heard voices, and even though he was in public, all he could see with his eyes closed was Tony, wanton and willing, on his knees, gagged, collared, bound, and looking up at Steve with those gorgeous brown eyes of his, those inky black lashes, pupils blown wide with the desperate need to be taken and fucked into submission—

He jumped up from his chair, made his excuses, and ran to the lavatory, Bucky's laughter echoing through the granite, marble, and polished wood of the venerable old institution. He tried to cover himself to keep his embarrassment to nil, and afraid of chancing anything in the public men's restroom, he forced himself to go the extra distance to the employees' restroom down in the basement.

He slammed his way in, found to his ever-lasting relief that it was empty, and leaned back against the door, exhaling a breath that maybe sounded like a bit of a moan.

This was definitely the kind of behavior that could get him demoted from the supervisory position he held on the night shift. Thankfully, his boss was only ever there two nights a month, and this wasn't one of his scheduled nights to appear.

He swallowed and turned the deadbolt to lock the door so that he couldn't be disturbed, and he went over to the sink and made to splash cold water on his face to try and temper some of the desire, but he caught the ridiculous tenting of his pants, remembered _why_ his pants were tenting in the first place, and said, "Fuck it," before he shoved into a stall, pulled his swollen and aching cock out, and gave it a few quick tugs, coming over his hand in no time flat.

Bucky was right. It _had_ been a while, and Steve had been so busy with his jobs that he hadn't even taken the time to give himself a quick jerk in the shower in weeks.

He slumped against the door of the stall, and he looked down at the streaks of come that covered his hand, and he was so goddamned lucky he was already spent because his immediate thought was to have Tony, on his knees and still bound, lick his hand clean. Five minutes ago, that thought alone would have had him coming in his pants like a teenager. He banged the back of his head against the door and muttered a quiet, " _Fuck,_ " then grabbed some toilet paper to clean himself off with, dropped the used evidence in the toilet, and flushed it down before he stuffed his cock back into his pants and zipped up.

He stayed slumped against the door of the stall until he was certain he'd gotten control of himself, and then he washed up, soaping his hands up extra good and wishing he had access to a change of clothes because even though he'd been extremely careful about not getting any of his spend on his pants, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something he'd missed—

And Bucky, knowing what Steve had run off to do, would be the first one to see it, if only to torment Steve with the knowledge.

He finished cleaning up, straightened his uniform out, and left the restroom with much more aplomb than he'd entered it.

Bucky was playing innocent when Steve got back the security desk, so Steve sat back down and decided to let sleeping dogs lie. They sat in quiet for a moment before Bucky said, almost like it was an afterthought, "By the way, while you were jerking off in the john, your boy left."

Steve jumped up from his chair some and looked in the direction of the entrance.

"Relax," Bucky said as he sat back down. "He's still in the building somewhere. Jesus, I know you're quick, but you're not _that_ quick."

Steve frowned and bit his lip, and Bucky and Sam both noticed his worried countenance, but Bucky was the one that said, "What? What's wrong now, Steve?"

He grimaced and scratched at his forehead again. "I, uh, I think I made plans with him."

Bucky just raised an eyebrow. "You _think_ you made plans."

"Yeah."

"But you're not sure."

"No."

Sam nodded. "OK," he said, "why don't we try to narrow this down? Steve, what exactly makes you think you and Tony have plans?"

He blew out a breath, if only to give himself some time to gather his thoughts. "Uh…he asked me to go out with him, and I said I would."

Sam nodded again. "OK, well, that would be the _start_ of making plans. Now, what else did you say?"

"Uh…" He grimaced and swallowed. "He— He asked when I was done with work. I said 'midnight.' He said 'I see,' and then he turned and left."

Bucky rolled his eyes and sighed. "I fucking hate you two."

Sam stuck his hand out to him. "Pay up, man."

"It doesn't count!"

"It totally counts."

"The fuck it does!" He motioned to Steve. "He's not even sure if it counts."

But Sam wasn't buying it. "It totally counts. Twenty bucks."

Steve looked between them. "What are you talking about?"

"As soon as I saw you and your boy pop up on the monitor," Sam explained, "I bet Grumpy over there you'd do something stupid like make a date with him."

"It's not _stupid_ …" Steve murmured.

"And it totally doesn't count!" Bucky added. "Steve doesn't even know if it counts. Therefore, it doesn't count."

Sam just looked at him pointedly. "Think about what you know about those two and how they communicate."

Bucky went quiet as he contemplated this before he grumbled out an annoyed, " _Son-of-a-bitch_ ," and got up from his chair.

"Yo, where you going?" Sam asked and watched as Bucky left the desk.

"Coffee break and to get your fucking twenty bucks out of the ATM." He looked at Steve, added an annoyed, "I hate you," to him, then left, muttering something under his breath that Steve couldn't make out, though he assumed it was about him.

"Honestly," Steve said after Bucky had gone, "I'm not sure that it does count."

"Sure," Sam said, his attention on the monitors.

"And it was a long time ago, anyway. We're different people now."

"Uh huh."

"And I really did think it was what he wanted."

"I know you did."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"You know I am."

Steve sighed a little and rolled his eyes. There were times, especially when it came to his relationship with Tony, that he felt his friends more humored him than actually sympathized with him.

"It probably doesn't mean anything," he said, "and even if it did, it's just…he probably just wants to catch up, see how things have been the past several years."

Sam exhaled a somewhat annoyed breath and sat back in his chair some. "Whatever you have to tell yourself, man."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

Sam gave a little shrug. "I mean that you've spent the past how many years trying to convince yourself that you did the right thing. I've seen people have to talk themselves into and out of stuff before, but you? You put them to shame. You loved him. You were happy with him. He was happy with you. He loved you. He would have done anything for you. Ask anyone. They'll agree with me. The fact that it's been how many years and we're still rehashing the same shit?"

He shook his head a bit.

"Look, man," he continued, not unkindly but with a firmness to his words that said he didn't entirely sympathize with Steve, "you broke his heart. Now, I don't know what he was like when you actually said the magical words—"

"He didn't cry."

Sam's brows furrowed together in confusion and concern, and Steve swallowed and thought about that long-ago moment that he'd replayed in his head over and over from the moment it had happened.

"He didn't cry. He just stood there and nodded like he agreed with it. I thought it was what he wanted. He didn't fight me. He actually said, _No, you're right, this isn't going to work_. I already had my stuff packed. I grabbed my bags… You know, it just occurred to me he never looked me in the eyes."

He met Sam's gaze at that, and Sam nodded his head like comprehension had dawned on him.

"Yeah," Sam said, "you two were always big with that eye-thing. Annoyed the crap out of the rest of us. You'd have an entire conversation just by looking at each other."

Steve shrugged. "We understood each other. It was easy. He wouldn't look me in the eyes. I kept trying to… He wouldn't… I was so set on… I didn't even think about…"

Sam heaved out a sigh. "Look, man, all I know is what happened afterward. He showed up on the doorstep at three o'clock in the morning looking like a drowned rat because it was pouring raining, and all he wanted to know was what he did wrong. And a head's up that you were going to do this might have been nice, you know? Buck and I were as confused as he was. Thankfully, he did most of the talking. I don't even think he realized neither Buck or I ever gave him an answer."

"I didn't want to hurt him," he all but whispered.

"No, I get that. I do. You did what you thought you had to do. You thought you were doing the right thing— He didn't fight you _at all?_ "

Sam actually seemed perplexed by this, frowning, looking at Steve like what he'd just said didn't mesh with what he knew of Tony Stark, and Steve shook his head. "No, that's why I thought he agreed with me. He just kept nodding and saying I was right and—"

Sam put a hand up. "Look, I'm gonna stop you right there. You _do_ realize that idiot would have slit his own throat if he thought it was what you wanted? He thought the sun rose and set with you. You were equal parts muse and god to him. You realize now he didn't fight you because he thought it was what _you_ wanted, right?"

Steve's heart sank. "Yeah," he murmured.

"And you know, man, I'm like the lieutenant of Team Stony—"

Steve couldn't help but snort a laugh. "Team Stony?"

Sam put both hands up as his defense. "Hey, you got an issue with the name, talk to Clint."

"I guess I don't have to ask who the captain was."

"Nat called general. Bucky got stuck with treasurer. Clint somehow convinced Thor that 'buck private' was the highest rank possible. Bruce was too toked out to give a shit. Rhodes we made an honorary member because he said we were idiots, but I think he was just jealous he didn't think of it first."

"Yeah, I'm sure that was the reason."

"The point is, man, I love you. You're like my brother. But if you dick that man over again, Imma have to go all Jackie Chan on your ass."

Steve just raised an eyebrow.

"All right, look, it sounded a lot cooler in my head. But I'm serious, you hurt him again, I don't think I'm going to be able to side with you. Now, he hurts you? That's a different thing entirely. You hurt him…"

"I don't _want_ to hurt him, Sam. I never did."

"I know, but you did, and if he's seriously giving you a second chance—"

"But I don't know that he _is_. Like I said, is it a date if there's no actual date or time or place established?"

Sam just leveled him with a _look —_ a veritable 'You're an idiot' look. "What?"

Sam continued to stare at him. "What?"

Sam stared at him a little longer then shook his head and said, "Buck's right. You two _are_ fucking idiots."

"I really don't think that's—"

" _Hey, fine security team you are_ ," Bucky's voice came over the radio. " _I almost just took out this ATM._ "

"'Almost' isn't 'did,'" Sam radioed back. "And I was totally watching you over the cams, so don't even pull that shit with me."

" _Steve done whining? I'm ready to head back._ "

Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head, and Sam laughed and said, "Yeah, man, it's cool. You got my twenty bucks?"

" _Depends. He got a date with Stark?_ "

"The direct SteveandTony-to-English translation would say that he does."

All Steve heard was a grumbled sigh then, " _Fucking idiots. I'm too old to put up with this shit_."

"So, you got my twenty, right?"

" _Yeah, I got your fucking twenty._ "

"I really wish you guys wouldn't talk like that over the radios."

Sam looked like he was fighting hard to keep from laughing, and he radioed Bucky, "Language police are on the patrol. I repeat: Language police are on the patrol."

" _Ah, Jesus Christ_ ," Bucky muttered but said nothing beyond that, and the radio went silent. Steve, however, just raised an eyebrow at Sam. Again.

"You have a bit of a reputation," Sam said by way of an explanation.

'You know, I don't actually have anything against it—"

"You can't. You're worse than Bucky when you go on one of your tirades. You're what we like to call a 'hypocrite.'"

"I just think there's a time and a place for that sort of language—"

"No, I get it. You're just—"

"A fucking killjoy," Bucky cut in as he sat back down at the desk. "One of you go on rounds. I already checked the front by the ATM. Six o'clock and all's well."

"I'm not a killjoy."

"No," Bucky said and grumbled as he slapped Sam's twenty bucks into his waiting palm. "But you're a fucking idiot. He said go out with him. You said you had to work. He asked what time you get off."

Sam snorted a laugh and pocked his bounty.

"His _shift_ ," Bucky amended. "Grow up, Wilson."

"You said that on purpose."

"Prove it."

"I can't believe I'm about to utter these words," Steve said as he looked between them, "but Clint's more mature than you two."

Sam fake gasped, and Bucky's eyes went wide as he said, "You take that back!"

Steve just shook his head and got up. "I'll go do rounds. Try not to let too many people make off with precious artifacts while I'm gone."

"Yeah, yeah," Bucky said before Sam added, "Say 'hi' to your boyfriend for us." Steve, mature fellow that he was, flipped them off.

~*~

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't intentionally chosen this route just for the chance to catch a glimpse of Tony again.

He strolled on over to the atrium, casually, like he was just patrolling the area like he did every night at this time. Pepper was talking with a representative now, one that was most gladly going over floor plans and seating arrangements for the size and style of wedding that Pepper was planning. Steve was sure Pepper was being taken for a ride — price-wise, anyway — but the CEO of Stark Industries could afford it.

Which was, of course, what the rep was counting on.

Natasha was there as well, throwing in suggestions every now and then, and Tony was standing off to the side, fiddling with his phone and seemingly not paying any attention to what was going on around him. Steve kept to the shadows so that he could watch Tony in peace — better appreciate what the past several years had done for his former lover.

His lines were sharper now, the last traces of baby fat all but gone, and he seemed fitter now, like he actually worked out or took care of himself or ate more than just greasy junk food. Tony had always had nice and expensive clothing, but the dark suit and the navy dress shirt he wore underneath it looked like they were tailored precisely to his lithe-yet-sturdy frame. His hair was much more neatly combed — or better yet, actually styled — than it had been in years past. The van dyke was even more enticing in person than it had been in the photographs.

But it was in the way he held himself that Steve saw so much of the man he had loved once upon a time — and maybe even still loved. The way his head was bowed and his shoulders were hunched as he concentrated on his phone, the way he protected himself as he blocked out the world around him. There was some authority and command to him, but Steve still saw within him vestiges of the man that had wanted nothing more than to tinker and create. He was a builder — a mechanic, as he had once called himself. He fixed things, he built them, he created them. He ran a company (or had run up until six months or so ago) because he was tasked with running a company, not because he so desired it. He had told Steve once that, if Steve said the words, he would tell his father to fuck off and live the rest of his days as a grease-monkey. Steve might not have belonged to the moneyed world of the Starks, but Tony would gladly slip into Steve's world of the hourly wage-earner. If it meant getting to be with Steve, he would do anything he asked of him.

It had never, in all the years since that fateful night, occurred to him that Tony had nodded and gone along with the breakup simply because it was what Steve wanted. He was certain Tony wanted it as much as he had. He wasn't sure that, if he'd known the truth at the time, he wouldn't have done the same. Maybe he would have spent more of his time trying to explain his position to Tony, trying to make him understand that it was for the best and he was only doing it because while this might not have been what Tony _wanted_ , it was what Tony _needed_ , and Steve was never going to stand between Tony and what Tony needed. Tony might hate him, might scream at him and throw things at him and tell him he hated him, but Tony would see, somewhere down the line, that Steve was right. There were certain things in life that were known and accepted. Tony Stark, the heir to the Stark Industries fortune, shacking up with some broke art student, was not one of those things.

But he really had thought it was what Tony wanted. He supposed that said a lot about what he thought about Tony, but he was certain Tony had wanted to break it off with him but was too scared to do it, didn't want to be the bad guy, wanted Steve to be the bad guy. Would he take it back, if given the chance? He didn't know. Maybe. Knowing what he knew now, maybe. The 'drowned rat' made for a hell of an image that had been plaguing the periphery of his mind from the moment he'd heard it, and if there was one thing he had never, ever truly wanted to do it was hurt Tony.

He'd fallen for him from the start, from the moment Tony had dragged him away from that frat party and into the city streets at eleven-thirty at night. He hadn't known Tony was only seventeen at the time; Tony gave a damned good impression of appearing older than he was, and the moment he'd found out, he'd put the kibosh on anything untoward happening until Tony had turned eighteen. Tony had been less than pleased with that and had threatened never to talk to Rhodey again.

(Rhodey had been the one to squeal once he'd found that Tony had gone all moon-eyed over some art student junior that was taller, stronger, and older than he was, and Rhodey had, under no uncertain terms, threatened to make Steve's life very, very painful if he were to, in any way, hurt Tony.)

Not that Tony hadn't tried to seduce Steve the best ways he knew how, and not that Steve didn't desperately want to give into his libido. But through a combination of common decency and Clint's oft-repeated reminder of 'jail-bait,' he was able to keep his cock tucked into his pants—

At least until Tony's eighteenth birthday. All bets were off from that point onward.

But he'd loved him from the start, even before he'd known he was a Stark, that he was the heir to the Stark fortune, that he was expected to take over the Stark Industries empire. No, he was forever and always _his Tony_. He loved his energy, he loved his mind, he loved the way he'd tilt his head in slight confusion those times that Steve said something that didn't quite make sense to him. He loved the way he built and created and forged something from nothing. And selfishly, he loved the way Tony made him feel wanted and desired, made him feel like he was someone worthy of being loved, made him feel _needed_.

It had hurt, breaking up with Tony. He'd repressed it, closed off that part of himself, tried not to let himself think about it, but it was like a shadow always following him, like a cloud always hanging over his head. There was a part of him that wished he hadn't been so in love, had broken up with Tony because he'd moved on. It was selfish, of course, but Steve could admit there were times that he wasn't as selfless as he pretended to be, especially when it came to Tony. He gave to Tony, yes, but he also took from him, and gladly. Took Tony's love, Tony's confidence, his humor, and his care. Because Tony cared — good lord, how Tony cared. Because Tony always looked out for him, wanted him to be safe, wanted to give him the world. Because though he didn't say it, Steve knew that Tony allowed himself to be vulnerable with him in ways he wouldn't allow even to Rhodey. Because he knew that he made Tony feel _safe_ , which had irked him a little — at least at first.

Rhodey was the one that said it to him, said that he was _safe_ for Tony, which had only gotten Steve's hackles up. Who wanted to be seen as the _safe_ option? But he remembered Rhodey had just shook his head and said, " _No, you don't understand. That's a_ good _thing. You make Tony feel like he's safe, like he's protected, like no one's going to hurt him. I've never seen Tony act the way he does like when he's with you. It's like— It's like he's free or something, like the sky's the limit and there's nothing to worry about because you're not just going to be there to catch him when he falls, you won't let him fall in the first place._ "

" _You mean I'm his crutch_ ," Steve had said in reply, still irritated by the fact that he was the _safe_ option for Tony.

" _No, man_ ," Rhodey had said with a heavy sigh, " _look, you haven't known Tony as long as I have, and let me tell you, most of what you see is just for show. He's not as strong as he pretends to be. He puts on a good front. He doesn't have to put up that front with you. He lets his guard down with you. He doesn't always have to be strong. He can let you be the strong one."_

It still hadn't sat well with him, but as Rhodey later admitted, that might have been because he wasn't explaining it all that well, and he really wasn't sure _how_ to explain the way he saw it. It had actually taken Steve a long time to understand what Rhodey had said to him — it wasn't that Steve was the _safe_ option.

It was that Steve was _home_.

Steve was to Tony what _home_ might have been to anyone else. It was safe, yes, but it was somewhere to find peace, to let your guard down, to find contentment and acceptance and security. Steve was _home_ to him, someone to support him and needle him and tease him and love him — oh, god, did he love him. Someone that would — and did — pick up the pieces when Tony shattered, like when Jarvis and his parents had died in that awful wreck right before Christmas. For the first time in his life, Tony was alone, and not that he was that close with his parents in the first place, but at least he had them, and at least he had a family, however perfunctory it was.

(And again, Steve was entirely certain Tony mourned Jarvis more than either Howard or Maria. Tony hadn't cried at Howard and Maria's funeral, but he'd all but soaked through Steve's coat with his tears at Jarvis's.)

Steve became his family after that, Steve and all his friends — all _their_ friends. That weird group that had co-mingled and intertwined in those months after the frat party. Tony hadn't wanted to spend Christmas at the mansion on Fifth Avenue, the wounds were too raw and too painful to even begin to nurse, but Steve had talked him into staying and promised that he would make it as good as he could for him or die trying.

So, Steve had rounded up the gang and begged them to stay at the mansion that holiday, and they'd spent all of Christmas Eve decorating and baking and cooking and singing raunchy and off- key versions of seasonal tunes, and it was sometime in that evening when the tree was finally up and they were tipsy from eggnog, and Thor was regaling them with some Scandinavian tale of the Yule Goat, and he could still hear Bucky's indignant and slurred voice saying, " _What the fuck kind of bullshit is that?_ " before going on to explain — angrily — that Santa Claus rode a red sleigh pulled by eight tiny reindeer, _Or nine if you want to count that asshole, Rudolph_ , and _that_ was the true story of Christmas—

Anyway, it was during that time that Tony had latched onto him, hugging him, pressing his face into his shoulder, and said, " _It was never like this. It was never…happy._ "

" _I'm sorry—_ "

" _What? Why? It's…nice. Having people here._ "

It was later that night, when they'd all retired to their beds, that Steve had spooned up behind Tony, curling his arm around him and pulling him close, and finally understanding what Tony had been saying earlier without actually saying it, he'd whispered in his ear, " _You're not alone, Tony. You'll never  be alone._ "

He never knew if Tony heard him, which was probably for the best as he'd pretty much broken that promise a little over a year later when he'd broken things off with him for good.

His radio crackled, and he jumped and went wide-eyed as the others turned in his direction, and he slid out of the atrium and moved into another room before he grabbed it and said a snappish,

" _What?_ "

" _Stare at his ass on your own time_ ," Bucky said. " _Get back to work_."

"Really?" he muttered to himself and hooked the radio back on his belt before resigning himself to getting back to work.

Somewhere during his rounds, Tony and the others had left, which he was happily informed of when he got back to the desk, and his heart sank a little when he realized Tony had left without finalizing anything with him, his query to Sam of whether or not Tony had left any messages for him answered with a shrug and a, "Sorry, man."

"Don't worry, Stevie," Bucky said with a pat on this back. "It'll all come out in the wash."

He went to nod then frowned and said, "What does that even mean in this context?"

"Hell if I know."

The rest of Steve's shift went by rather uneventfully, not that it mattered because he spent most of his time thinking about Tony and about that kiss and wishing he'd thought to make certain that they would actually see each other again and get their date. By the time midnight rolled around, he was more than ready to call it a night and go home and stare at his ceiling for the next four hours and play over the last seven years of his life and wonder how different they might have been had he done things differently, had he not broken things off with the only man he'd ever truly loved.

Damn it, he'd been doing fine until Sam and Clint had led him astray!

He bid 'goodnight' to Bucky and Sam and said he'd see them tomorrow, and when Bucky said, "Say 'hi' to your boy for us!" as he departed, he rolled his eyes and shook his head and waved him off, figuring it wasn't worth it to contradict him. Bucky wouldn't listen, anyway, and Sam would just back him right up.

He left through the back and swung around to the street to make the short jaunt to the subway station, and it was as he approached the front of the stately old building that he spotted an unfamiliar car parked at the curb, a man leaning against it and staring down at a phone in his hands. Steve was about to pass him by and continue on until he realized that while he didn't recognize the car, he recognized the man—

And it stopped him in his tracks.

Tony. Tony was standing there, leaning against what he now realized was a _very_ expensive sports car, staring down at his phone, the light from the street casting long shadows over the sidewalk that made the whole thing look like it was out of some spy story. He stood there, unsure, wondering if he should say 'hello' or continue on his way, and he wondered if Tony was waiting there for someone, though a museum seemed such an odd place to meet someone.

He made to continue on his way — Tony hadn't left him a message, and they'd never made definite plans anyway — but something compelled him not to cross the street and head over to the subway per usual but to instead walk around the corner to at least maybe say a proper 'goodbye' to the one that had gotten away, and though he wanted to say something cool or something smart or witty, the only word that came out of his mouth was, "Hey."

Tony looked up, and to Steve's surprise, a smile broke out over his face. "Hey." "Waiting for someone?"

Tony's smile broadened, warm and maybe even a little flirty. "You could say that."

Steve just nodded and fumbled for something to do with his hands before he settled on clasping them behind his back, and he stood there awkwardly and struggled for something to say until Tony said, "Shall we?"

He frowned. "Shall we what?"

"Go."

"Go?"

Tony looked a little confused and glanced around. "Uh…date? You said your shift ended at midnight."

Steve just blinked, and he knew he had that deer-in-the headlights look again as he suddenly came to the realization that Sam had been right to collect that twenty bucks from Bucky all along.

Jeez, maybe he was more of an idiot than he thought?

"Yeah, but I didn't think—" he started to say, and Tony's face began to fall like he suddenly realized he'd completely misread the earlier situation, but Steve shook his head and amended, "— nothing. Never mind."

He had one shot at this. He wasn't going to mess it up.

"It's not too late for you?" he added, not sure if he meant the late hour or the seven years that had gone past.

But Steve knew Tony wasn't only talking about the time when he replied, "Never too late."

He held Tony's gaze for a moment, brown and blue interlocking like they had so many times in the past, and for that moment, Steve was able to forget that the past several years had ever happened. He was able to forget the mistakes and the tears shed on both sides and the constant pain of 'what if' and imagine it was that night all those years ago when they'd gone to the Stark Foundation gala — the night he'd determined it was in both their interests to say 'goodbye.' For that moment, he was able to imagine that he'd caught himself in time, that he'd stopped himself, that he hadn't spent an evening romancing his sort-of fiancé before casting him to the wind. It was just him and Tony, just they two, together against the world like they'd always talked about.

"There's a diner around here," Tony said, and the vision of earlier times dissipated, replaced by the here-and-now. "They stay open all night. Thought maybe you could use a cup of joe that doesn't taste too much like used motor oil."

Steve didn't want to say he looked hopeful — he hated what that said about himself — but he did look like he was hoping Steve would take him up on the offer. His mouth was a little hard, but there was something shining in his eyes, and Steve didn't think it was merely the streetlight bouncing off of them.

He exhaled a breath and tweaked a small smile at him. "Yeah. Sounds like a plan."

He could tell Tony was trying his best not to get too excited, but even from a distance, he could see how his eyes lit up at Steve's words, and he reached down and popped open his door.

"I mean, we could probably walk," Tony said as Steve slid into the heated leather passenger seat. Steve didn't even own a car let alone one that had heated leather seats. "But it's after midnight, and we're in Manhattan. It's not Morningside — is that still a bad part? — but I'd rather not take my chances. I don't know about you."

"It's fine, Tony," he said and reached for the seat belt.

"You don't normally walk home, do you?" Tony asked and pulled onto the road.

"No, subway to a bus."

Tony winced. "My god, and you're still alive," he murmured more to himself than to Steve. "Yeah, well, not tonight. Tonight, I'm driving you home."

"You don't have to—"

"I didn't say _whose_ home," he said and shot a wicked look in Steve's direction. Steve just smiled in return and relaxed into the seat.

God, he'd missed his forward little mechanic.


	3. It'll Be Just Like Starting Over

* * *

True to his word, it was a cheap little diner, but unless he considered 'across town' and 'thirty blocks south' actually 'around here,' then it wasn't as close as Tony claimed it to be.

It was one of those typical jobs with the vinyl seats and the ceramic tabletops that always felt sticky no matter how many times they'd been washed. The lighting was garish considering the fixtures were old incandescents, and even though smoking was banned, there was still a haze of something in the air. Probably grease, as the kitchen was visible beyond the building-length counter with the vinyl-topped barstools. There was either a knock-off Wurlitzer by the side or a retrofitted one, which was currently playing something that was definitely old enough to be a member of AARP if not collect Social Security.

They slid into a booth, opposite to each other, and after the tired-looking waitress took their order for coffees and left a couple menus, Tony scanned over his and said, "Pick anything you want.

My treat."

"No, Tony, that's not—"

Tony shot a pointed look at him over his menu. "Steve," he said evenly and firmly like he meant business and he wasn't taking 'no' for an answer, "it's my treat. Whatever you want."

"Well, in that case," he said with a light laugh and made a point of turning from the appetizers to the entrées, "I guess I can look at this side of the menu."

"Only the best for my babe," Tony said then seemingly caught his mistake. "I didn't mean—"

"No, it's fine," Steve said, trying to work past the awkwardness. "Glad to see you remember I'm not a cheap date."

"No," he muttered and went back to looking at the menu, "I found that out the hard way."

Steve snorted a laugh but continued to gaze over his menu. He wasn't actually all that hungry, but Tony was so hopeful for this, and Steve didn't want to give him any reason to think that there was any way this date wasn't going to end with them making plans for another. It was after midnight, so maybe he could down a breakfast platter of some kind. Eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage, hash browns — the works.

Actually, now that he thought about it, maybe he was a bit hungrier than he let himself imagine. His lunch at work had consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and an apple, after all.

"What are you getting?" Tony asked, gaze still boring into his menu.

"Breakfast."

"Really? Already?"

"It's technically the morning."

Tony shrugged. "Whatever."

Tony ended up ordering the same thing Steve did, telling the waitress in all seriousness that he didn't want any of that health-food crap and throw some extra grease on before yelling this same demand to the short-order cook in the kitchen.

In fairness, she had asked him if he'd wanted white, wheat, or multigrain bread.

He also told her to just set the pot of coffee down on their table, but she assured him she only had the one carafe for regular and needed that for the scant few other customers that were milling about, and this started a five-minute tirade on the abject stupidity of 'decaf coffee.'

"I mean, what's the point? Doesn't 'decaf' defeat the entire purpose of coffee? You don't drink it to put you to sleep. You drink it to wake the fuck up. And you know it's probably not really decaf, right? It's the greatest con ever perpetuated. Decaf coffee. Yeah, sure, we'll tell people it's 'decaf,' and they'll eat that bullshit right up. Like coffee but hate the buzz it gives you? Who the hell could ever hate that?"

"Anyone that's ever had to talk to you after you've had an entire pot of it?"

Tony downed his cup as he shrugged his agreement then pulled the cup away and said, "Miss? Oh, miss?" He held the cup up and made a motion with it. "Refill."

She grabbed the carafe, a none-too-pleased look on her face, and made her way back over. "You're going to be a pain in my ass tonight, aren't you?"

Tony just grinned up at her as she refilled his cup. "I tip well."

"Yeah? Well, here's a tip for your boyfriend—" She looked at Steve. "Keep an eye on him. Somebody's bound to strangle him one of these days." She held the carafe up. "You want me to top you off, too?"

Steve purposely pushed the 'boyfriend' comment to the back of his mind, glanced into his half- filled cup, and said an easy, "What the hell?"

She filled his cup back up then went on her way, and Tony said, "That was terribly rude."

Steve dumped a packet of sugar into his cup. "Is it untrue?"

Tony grabbed several packets of sugar and dumped them in all at once. "No," he said and dumped some half-and-half in, "but it was still rude. If I was a sensitive person, I'd only give her like a twenty-five percent tip."

He swirled his diabetes-inducing concoction with one of the cheap flatware spoons that had been folded into a paper napkin, and Steve folded his arms on the table and said, "You're more sensitive than you like to admit."

This gave Tony pause for a moment and only a moment as he stopped in mid-sip before he finished the sip and set the cup down. "Yeah, well, maybe I was years ago," he said, and Steve realized the words had taken on a snappish tone. "I've gotten over that."

"Yeah?" Steve said and tried to meet Tony's gaze, but Tony wouldn't let him. "Well, that's too bad."

Tony sat back against the hard vinyl back of the booth but wouldn't look at him. "You know, maybe this was a bad idea?" He pulled out his wallet and began to dig through it. "Look, I'll pay for whatever, just—"

Steve reached out and put his hands over Tony's, stilling his actions. "No, this was a good idea. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything."

Hands still enjoined, Tony finally allowed Steve to meet his gaze, and Steve saw then years of hurt and pain clouding those gorgeous brown irises. Tony had always marveled at the beauty of Steve's eyes, but Steve had never seen it. No, to him, Tony's eyes were the most beautiful things he'd ever seen: dark, mesmerizing, soft and warm when he was happy and hard and piercing when he'd been crossed, and lined with inky black lashes that looked like they had been done up with five coats of mascara but were just naturally that way. Steve had gladly stared at those eyes for hours, memorized their every curve and crinkle, sketched them, painted them, and dreamt about them. Tony was a gorgeous man inside and out, but for Steve, it was the eyes that did it every time.

"I'm sorry, Tony," Steve said, though he wasn't sure it was his smartest move. "I never meant to hurt you."

Steve could actually see the mask sliding over Tony's face, his jaw firming and his eyes going a bit hard and cold. But only a bit because beneath that hardness lay hurt, and Steve knew he wasn't imagining the way his eyes had gone a little wet.

"Whatever," Tony said and sat back, pocketing his wallet again. "Water under the bridge."

"It wasn't you, Tony. Never you. It was... I thought it was the right thing to do."

Tony was back to avoiding his gaze. "Whatever. Look, Steve, I already said water under the bridge. It's in the past. No sense in hashing it over now."

"But I feel like I owe you an explanation."

"Trust me, you don't owe me anything. Look, it happened. We moved on. End of story."

He blinked several times and swallowed, and Steve knew an attempt at suppressing tears when he saw one. He hadn't meant for their date to go this way. He was kind of hoping they could just pick up where they'd left off.

Now he was thinking it would be better if they just started over.

Tony was staring out the window beside them at the scarce amount of traffic, and Steve cleared his throat and stuck his hand out.

"Steve Rogers."

Tony turned to him and tilted his head, seeming to be utterly perplexed by Steve's motion.

"I teach art during the day, and I work as a museum security guard at night. I have a shitty apartment in Brooklyn, and I let my driver's license expire two years ago. I like sesame seed bagels and ordering people around. I draw in what little spare time that I have, and, as my friends tell me, I'm hopeless when it comes to popular culture. I made the mistake of saying to them one time that I understood a reference, and I haven't heard the end of it yet."

While the mask didn't completely lift, Steve saw cracks in its façade in the form of a small smile that broadened across Tony's lips and softened his face. He allowed Steve to meet his gaze again, and Steve saw from the dawning awareness on his face that he understood what Steve was getting at. He finally took hold of Steve's hand and shook it.

"Nice to meet you, Steve. I'm Tony Stark. I'm head of R&D for Stark Industries, which is just a fancy way of saying I get to spend my entire day playing with stuff. I like to build things. I'm really just a glorified mechanic. I like jelly doughnuts a little too much. I once knew this guy that used to tell me one day I'd go into the hospital for chest pains, and they'd find jelly filling instead of plaque in my arteries. I sometimes get a little too lost in my work, and I lose all track of time."

Steve couldn't help but grin. And again, Tony had remembered. Then again, Steve wasn't sure Tony was the type to ever forget.

"So," Tony continued after they'd let their hands drop. "You come here often?"

"Nah, first time, actually. Don't eat out that much. Can't really afford it. Not even cheap diner food."

"Oh, you don't know what you're missing. Greasy spoons are the best. They're not worried about all that arugula and bean sprout and other health-food crap. Nope, just good, old-fashioned butter and lard."

Steve laughed but said, "Oh? You don't look like you partake in anything but blended grass smoothies."

"Looks can be deceiving, as they say. Buy me a cheeseburger, and I'm yours for life."

Steve's heart warmed at the remembrance of a long-forgotten memory of Tony, starving after a long inventing-binge, pressing his face into Steve's shoulder and saying, _Get me a cheeseburger, and I'll be yours for the rest of our lives_.

"I think I've heard that before."

"Oh, so you're saying I'm not original?" Tony said, but there was no malice to the tone. It was light, teasing, and clearly Tony remembered that moment just as well as Steve did.

"Nah, just a cheap date."

Tony faked a gasp. "Insult after insult! Clearly you were raised in a barn."

"Nah, that would be my friend, Clint. The wolves that raised him forgot to slap decent manners on him."

"Yeah?" Tony said, and light humor was replaced by genuine interest. "And how's your friend Clint doing?"

"Not bad," Steve said with a shrug. "Haven't seen him in a while. There was some talk about him buying a farm — _literally_ buying a farm and raising…whatever it is you raise on a farm."

"Livestock. Produce. Generally just the things we eat. I mean unless, of course, it's a Christmas tree farm. You can't _generally_ eat Christmas trees unless they're made of, like, flour and sugar and shit."

Steve just shook his head some but couldn't help the small smile that pulled at his lips.

"So, a farm, huh?" Tony continued like he hadn't gone into a slight tree tangent. "I just assumed for some reason that this Clint would be more into, I don't know, spy work or something."

Steve laughed, finding Tony's way of passing off catching up on old friends as casual small-talk amusing and maybe even a little easier than it would have been had they'd played it straight. "Yeah," he said, "that didn't work out so well for him. He also fell in love with…Bobbi? No, wait, Laura. Laura, yeah. Didn't work out with Bobbi."

Tony whistled and shook his head. "Bobbi. Now, there's a name I haven't heard in forever," he mused to himself before he said to Steve, "Clint seems more like the type to go after scary goth-chicks-turned-sexy-redheads."

"Nothing ever happened between them."

"What?" Tony asked in genuine surprise. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nothing ever happened. Honest. Bucky practically grilled Clint about it before he got up the nerve to ask Nat out. He didn't want there to be anything 'weird' between them, but Clint insisted he and Nat were just friends. Nothing beyond that."

"Not even friends with benefits?"

Steve made a face. "Eh… I think he kind of side-stepped that, come to think of it."

"Clint or Bucky?"

"Clint."

Tony nodded. "So, they were doing it, but just casually. No feelings."

Steve pursed his lips and shook his head. "I don't understand that. I mean, I guess I understand it in theory, but how do you keep any feelings from forming? Wouldn't they, you know, have a better chance of forming that way?"

"I don't know," Tony said with a shrug. "I guess I can understand it. You both go into it under the impression that it's just sex and nothing else, why not?"

"Yeah, but how do you prevent any feelings from developing?"

"Got me there. I guess you just have to make sure you're both on the same page with that sort of thing. I only ever did that once—"

Steve's blood ran cold. Oh, god, had it been him?

"—after this…not so great breakup I had with—" He stopped short and forced a clipped smile at Steve. "Doesn't matter. Anyway, it was just…sex. It didn't mean anything. It was easier, I guess, but it wasn't the same."

"Sex with feelings is better?" Steve asked, practically begging Tony to tell him he'd been a better lover than whatever casual fuck Tony'd had after their breakup had been.

"Much better," Tony said, a wistful smile drawing over his lips. "At least for me, anyway. I can't speak for anyone else on the matter."

And then, because God hated him, Tony leveled him with a probing look and said, "Have you ever been in love, Steve?"

But Steve was not about to back down, and meeting Tony sharp-gaze-for-sharp-gaze, he nodded ever so slightly and said, "Yeah, I was. Once."

Tony didn't back down, either. "And what happened with that?"

"I made a mistake. I thought I was doing the right thing for both of us. I thought I was giving him what he wanted. We were from two different worlds. I never would have fit into his. I thought he deserved more than I could ever give him."

"What if you were all he'd ever wanted?"

"That may be, but I didn't think I was what he needed."

"Why didn't you let him be the judge of that?"

"Because I was afraid he was too…compromised…by the whole thing. Sometimes, he can't see the forest for the trees. He means well, but he gets in over his head. But he's so giving, and he loves so much, and I was afraid he'd do something stupid like make himself absolutely miserable for me. I never wanted him to do that. I couldn't live with myself if he was miserable just because he thought I was happy. I would have done anything for him. I just wanted him to be happy. I let him go because I thought it was the right thing to do."

They were saved from any more talk by the waitress setting down their heaping breakfast platters, the clatter of the plates against the tabletop snapping them both out of whatever trance they'd been in, and she topped off their coffees yet again before she moved over to a group of tipsy college students that had taken seats at the counter.

They dove into their plates, silent as they ate, and Steve only now realized just how hungry he'd actually been. It was greasy diner food at one o'clock in the morning, but it may just have been the absolute best meal he'd ever eaten. The eggs were just the right kind of fluffy, the bacon was crispy, the sausage had the right snap to it, the hash browns had just a hint of onion to them, the pancakes were like biting into a cloud, and the toast was…well…toast. But it was good toast.

And Steve was only partially certain it was the company that made the breakfast as deliciously decadent as it was.

Tony took more care eating his meal than Steve did, taking smaller, more considered bites as he focused his attention on his phone. At one point, he sat there with a forkful of eggs, sausage, and hash brown halfway to his mouth as he tapped the screen to check something over. Steve didn't know what possessed him to do it, but he reached over and guided the fork the remaining distance to Tony's mouth, and Tony took the bite without thinking before he turned to Steve and gave him a curious look. Steve went a little bashful, pulling his hand from Tony's to go back to his own plate, and they ate in silence a few more moments before Tony said, "You know, I've only had one other person do that for me."

Steve swallowed his nerves. He'd had to do it on occasion when Tony was being stubborn and was too busy 'sciencing' to eat, but Steve didn't want to think that anyone else had done it for him. It seemed too intimate a gesture.

"Yeah?" he mused lightly and tried to keep any pangs of jealousy out of his voice.

"Yeah," Tony replied. "Almost married him," he added and went back to his phone.

Steve took a breath and swallowed another batch of nerves. "How come you didn't?"

"Hmm?" Tony asked without looking up from his phone. He took another bite of his platter, swallowed, and said, still not looking up, "Oh, he got some stupid idea in his head that he wasn't good enough for me, so he broke it off. Didn't see him for years after that. Not sure what he's doing now."

Steve pushed the remnants of eggs and hash browns around his plate, his appetite suddenly deflating, and not because it was satiated from the food he'd already eaten. "Probably wondering how things might have been different if he hadn't been so stupid."

Tony hummed a little bit and looked up from his phone, pressing a button on the side to shut it off as he did so. "Well, hindsight is 20/20, so they say. I'm not really interested in dwelling over the past, anyway. I'm much more interested in what's to come."

"Oh?" Steve said and stopped playing with his food. "Any inklings or plans?"

"A couple." He shoved another forkful of food in his mouth and said around a mouthful of food, "We should do desert. I know this great place down on…Mulberry Street? Spring Street? No, wait—" He frowned and swallowed. "I don't know. It's somewhere down there. You like gelato? Absolutely fantastic. Cannoli? Tiramisu? Anyway, we should totally do desert after this."

Steve marveled a little at the way Tony's mind worked, the way he was able to jump so effortlessly from one track to another. "I'm pretty sure they're closed now."

Tony startled a bit and looked at his watch. "Oh. Right. Probably. Tomorrow. What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Work."

"Ugh, that's stupid. What time?"

"Four. At the museum. I don't have any classes on Fridays."

"You're still going to school?"

"I _teach_ , Tony. Remember?"

"Oh." Tony brightened. "Well, then, I guess we'll just have to see about doing something for lunch then."

Steve couldn't help but laugh. "We're not even done with breakfast yet."

"Never too early to start planning the next meal, Steven," he replied with a waggle of the eyebrows.

~*~

When they'd finished eating, Tony grabbed the check before Steve had even realized the waitress had brought it over, paid it, and no doubt left a fifty-percent tip.

The Wurlitzer was playing some doo-wop song as they passed it on their way to the door, and Tony leered at him and said, "Care for a dance?"

But Steve just put his hands on Tony's shoulders and shoved him toward the door. "Some other time," he said with a laugh, and they left the establishment and found their way to the street.

Steve noticed there were a few droplets falling from the sky as they went over to Tony's car, parked beneath a streetlamp no doubt as a means of deterring anyone that might be looking to steal it under the cover of dark. Steve stood on the passenger side and watched as Tony frowned and felt over his pockets then bent down over the driver's side window and peered in.

"Fuck."

"What?"

"Locked my keys in the car," he muttered and pulled out his phone.

"How?" Steve asked, utterly perplexed. He hadn't owned a car since his old jalopy back in college, but he was pretty sure all cars came with remote keyless entry nowadays.

"Locked it with my phone," Tony explained like it was obvious then groaned as he hit a button on the phone in his hand and said, "Oh, come on!"

"What?"

"Fucking battery died on my phone!" he all but yelled and shoved the offending implement back into his pocket. " _Fuck._ Great. Can this get any worse?"

Famous last words.

The few droplets that had previously been falling from the sky opened up to a downpour of rain, and Steve couldn't help but burst into laughter at the situation, especially as Tony looked up at the sky and yelled, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Language, Tony."

"Don't even start that with me now, Steve!"

He glared at him, but with the way the rain water had begun to run through his hair and soak through his suit, he looked the quintessential 'drowned rat'—

Probably not all that removed from how he had looked to Bucky and Sam that night all those years ago.

Steve recognized the makings of a Tony Stark pout when he saw one, and the water dripping down his forehead and into his eyes, he went over and took a gentle hold of Tony's arm.

"Come on. At the least, let's find an overhang to stand under."

"There you go, being all practical again," Tony muttered but let Steve lead him onto the sidewalk, stepping over a small river that had formed at the curb and flooded into a storm drain at the corner.

Steve instead pulled them over to a bus shelter just as the rain got even heavier, thrumming down atop the shelter so loud it was hard to even think. He let go of Tony's arm, and Tony folded his arms and grumbled and wondered if it was too late to call up Happy to give him a lift back to the building, but Steve, unable to help himself as he looked over at Tony and saw the way the rain had matted his hair down over his forehead, reached out and pushed the hair away, and Tony looked up at him with inquisitive big, brown eyes.

And then it happened.

They were in each other's arms, tight, passionate, mouths met in a fierce kiss that might well have been obscene to an outside observer, tongue and teeth and saliva and grunts as they pulled closer, tasted each other, needed to be one with each other again. He felt Tony go lax in his arms — he always loved that moment that Tony gave himself over to him and allowed him to be the stronger of the two — but just as he'd relaxed into it, just as he'd begun to forget that anything beyond they two existed in the world, Tony wrenched back violently, pushing his hands against Steve's chest and shoving him away as he muttered, "No," over and over again.

Steve frowned and watched as Tony closed in on himself again, shaking his head, muttering 'no,' before he finally looked up and said, "I can't. I can't do it. I can't let this happen unless I know — I _know_ — that you're not going to get cold feet again."

"Tony, it wasn't—"

"I'm sorry. Was I finished?"

Steve kept quiet and allowed Tony to continue.

"I let you get under my skin once. If I do it again — if I let you get to me again — if you break it off… I don't know if I'll be able to come back from that. Look, I know that I pretend to be all tough and like I have my shit together and like I don't care what anybody thinks of me, but goddamn it, Steve, you fucking _hurt_ me. You broke my fucking heart, and you walked out like you didn't even care, like it didn't faze you. You left me standing there wondering what in the _fuck_ I did wrong. Because everyone leaves me, Steve. Everyone always leaves, but you… I thought you were different. I thought you were for keeps. I thought you would stay. But you left, too, and if you left, then what does that say about me, huh? What's so wrong with me that everyone leaves?"

"Tony—"

"I'm not finished!" He ran a frustrated hand through his wet hair. "I can't do this again. I can't do this unless I _know_ you're not going to leave, that you're not going to make the important decisions for us again without at least _talking_ to me first. Look, I… Maybe Obie did say something to me. Maybe he did talk about you and that you were only with me for the money, and maybe I did — just for one second — wonder if he was right. Because why else would you be with me? What else could you possibly see in me? And then you started to act funny, and I didn't know what was going on, and I got scared. I admit it. I got scared. And then you… And then you left, and I didn't know why. I went to your friends. Did they tell you that? I went to them and made an asshole out of myself crying onto them and begging them to tell me what I did wrong. Because they would know. Of course they would know. They were your friends. But they didn't know, and I just…"

Steve stepped closer, and he went to pull Tony — oh, _Tony_ — into his arms and shush him and promise he'd make it all better, but Tony wrenched away from him, and Steve saw that the wetness on his face wasn't just from the rainwater.

He knew there were not enough apologies in the world to make up for the hurt he had caused Tony, and nothing he could say or do could ever take that away, and so he said the only thing he could possibly say, the only thing that made sense to him at that moment.

"Come home with me."

With a snuffle, Tony looked up at him, silent, the dim streetlight bouncing off of Tony's dark eyes.

"Give me tonight. Give me one night. If you don't think you can trust me after tonight, then we shake hands, say it's been a blast, and go on our way."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Are you that disinterested in me that you don't care if I trust you or not? That this can go either way for you and you won't care?"

"I didn't say that."

"Then?"

"Then what? Tony, I didn't break up with you because I stopped loving you; I broke up with you because I thought it was the right thing to do for both of us. I know now it was stupid. I know I should have talked to you. I wish I had. But hindsight is 20/20, and there's nothing we can do about the past. We can only worry about what happens going forward. I love you, I've always loved you, and I always will love you. Seven years has done nothing but make me realize how stupid I was. I only ever wanted to make you happy, and right now, all I want to do is get you home and get you out of those wet clothes before you get sick. But if after tonight — if after whatever happens tonight, you still can't trust me? You're afraid I could still hurt you? Then it doesn't matter how I feel. You can walk away, and I won't stop you. You think it didn't hurt when I left you? It hurt more than you could imagine, and I had a…tough time of it afterward. I got into a bad relationship. Yeah, I said it. I was in a relationship with some asshole that would probably have killed me if I'd stayed with him any longer. I haven't even admitted that to Buck or Sam, but I'm telling you because I trust you, and I always have."

Tony just stared at him, silent, unsure, and a bus rolled on up to the curb and stopped to let a passenger disembark. Tony glanced over to it before he nodded his head and said, "This your bus?"

He shook his head, and Tony nodded a little and pulled his jacket tighter as the bus pulled away, splashing some water from the curb up in their direction.

"One night, Tony," he murmured. "That's all I ask."

He watched as Tony swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat, and then over the sound of the pounding rain that continued to hit against the shelter Tony said the most beautiful word ever created in the English language.

"OK."

~*~

Steve hadn't been expecting to bring anyone back to his apartment that night, and certainly not _Tony_ , and he was a little embarrassed by the general clutter of the place, but as he switched on the light and Tony took a look around, he just shook his head and said, "I forgot how lazy you are with housekeeping."

Steve grinned a little and shut the door, doing up the locks and hooking the security chain. "I lead a very busy life."

Tony snorted in derision as he glanced at some of the papers Steve had spread over the coffee table — lecture notes for his class — and he just said, "You keep telling yourself that, babe," with all the humor and levity in his voice that Steve knew he didn't deserve.

Steve just reached out and helped Tony off with his jacket, and he grabbed a hanger from the closet and said, "Sorry, it's plastic. Not sure if you're particular about how you hang your stuff up."

 

Tony scoffed and said, "Throw it over the couch for all I care. You do have a couch underneath that pile of crap, don't you?"

"They're called 'blankets,'" he said as he hung the coat up in the doorway near to the radiator.

"I didn't realize they made 'blankets' in sock or boxer shapes."

Steve rolled his eyes but didn't do anything with the pile of laundry on the couch. He couldn't dump it on his bed, not if one — or both — of them was going to sleep there tonight.

"So," Tony said and turned to him, folding his arms and hitching his hip against the back of the couch he claimed he wasn't able to see. "What are we doing here?"

Steve scratched the back of his head. "Uh…what do you mean?"

"Well, you invited me here. Are we sleeping? Are we fucking? What are we doing here?"

"What do you want to do?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess maybe I thought it would come to me as soon as we got here, but right now, all I really want is…a shower."

"A shower?"

"I feel soaked and gross. Yeah, a shower. You have one of those here, don't you?"

Steve blinked, unsure of exactly what Tony's aim was, and he stuttered and stumbled over his words a bit before he pointed down the small hall and said, "Uh, yeah, down there."

Tony nodded and pulled at his tie, loosening it before he pulled it over his head, and he dropped it on the floor and began the walk down to the bathroom, dropping his clothes on the floor along the way.

He used to do this, back in the day, when he was trying to entice Steve to join him, which worked almost ninety-nine percent of the time (OK, maybe a hundred), and he wasn't sure if this was one of those 'old habits die hard' kind of things _or_ if Tony was enticing him to follow again.

Tony stopped at the door to the bathroom and switched the light on, and standing there only in a pair of red briefs, he turned toward Steve and said, "Well?"

Steve had never stripped out of his uniform so fast in his life.

It actually wasn't that debauched an experience, their first shower together in years. Tony expected Steve to literally wash him off, standing there and refusing to budge an inch until Steve had soaped him and cleaned him, and Steve took extreme care to gently massage the shampoo into Tony's hair — Tony probably used expensive salon stuff, but all Steve could afford was the value- sized Suave from the grocery store — and Tony closed his eyes and moaned and let Steve take care of him like he had once upon a time, and Steve found it odd how easily they could slip back into these roles, how easily they could pretend like the last seven years had never happened, how Steve could once again become Tony's defender and protector and champion.

Once they finished cleaning off, Steve wrapped Tony up in his best towel and dried his hair off and gave him what extra clothes he could find. The t-shirt and boxers were a little big on him — OK, the t-shirt fit pretty well, seeing as, according to Tony, Steve didn't know his clothing size and bought his t-shirts two sizes too small — and as Steve finished cleaning up in the bathroom, Tony helped himself to looking around Steve's bedroom. It was only at that moment that Steve remembered that he'd left that stupid webpage up with the story about Tony's 'proposal,' and he stuck his head back into the bedroom just as Tony bumped the mouse to knock the screensaver off, only to display a photograph of a groomed, grinning Tony Stark from the other night's gala with a big, black 'wedding bells' headline.

He held his breath, waiting for Tony to say something about it, and Tony, clearly sensing Steve standing behind him, said, "You know, that wasn't the first time I'd thought about you."

"No?" he asked, the word catching in his throat.

"No. Thought about you a lot over the years." He reached down and moved the cursor over to the corner and x-ed out of the browser, leaving the standard Windows desktop background on display. Tony made an utterance of disgust and muttered, "You poor bastard," before he shut the monitor off — as though the very reminder of Windows was offensive to him. He turned back, and Steve realized he was intrigued by the look of Tony's clothes on him, or at least, his dick was intrigued considering the way it went half-hard at the sight of Tony in his shirt and boxer briefs, and he tried to focus on Tony's words as Tony continued, "Wondered what you were up to. I'd get some stuff from Nat."

"Nat?" he said, thankful for the slight distraction. "She was under the impression that you didn't recognize her."

"Not at first. But when I realized who she was, yeah, maybe I'd eavesdrop on her conversations that featured her idiot friend, Steve. I thought you'd be married by now. I was surprised you weren't."

Steve nodded toward his computer. "Is that why you said—"

"Not entirely. I meant it— I _mean_ it. Was it a stupid way of doing it? Yeah, probably. Pepper wasn't too happy with me. But…"

He shrugged and looked up and met Steve's gaze, and Steve's breath caught in his throat at the absolute beautiful picture Tony made — young, abashed, like the manic little mechanic he had fallen so hard for once upon a time.

"It got us to this point, didn't it?" Tony said, and that was the end of that.

Steve marched over and caught him, pulling Tony up into his arms as Tony wrapped his legs around his waist, arms about each other, mouths met, desperate want filling their veins. Steve stumbled over to the bed and fell back, Tony falling atop him, and they worked to strip each other of the clothes they'd just put on, sweat beginning to coat bodies that had just been washed clean of the day's muck and dirt.

"Please," Tony begged in his ear, straddling his hips as he ground their erections together, making Steve moan and shove his head back into his pillow, " _please_ tell me you have stuff."

"I don't, _ungh_ , I don't—"

"Whoa, don't go anywhere yet, babe. I need your brain to function around at least twenty-five percent until I get us slicked up here."

"Then stop— Then stop—"

"Stop, what? _This?_ "

He reached down and fisted both their cocks in his hand, and Steve keened high in the back of his throat, and Tony chuckled a little and murmured, "I guess it has been a long time for you, hasn't it?"

"Tony, god, stop, _please_ —"

"Stop? Oh, well, if you insist."

He slid off Steve's waist and onto the mattress beside him. Steve's eyes shot open wide at the loss of contact, and he looked beside him to see Tony laying there, propped up on an elbow, shit- eating grin on his face, cock standing red and proud with a little bead of precome at the tip. Just that sight, just the sight of _his_ Tony was enough to do things to his hindbrain that he ordinarily wouldn't be proud of, and fumbling like he was drowning and desperately trying to find purchase on dry land, he reached over Tony to the nightstand and wrenched open the drawer and felt around desperately for the little bottle of lube he swore he had seen in there just the other day.

He'd bought it, on a lark, a few weeks ago, thinking that maybe if he had it, it would give him an excuse to get back out there and finally put his past behind him once and for all.

He cried out in delight as he grasped hold of it, and Tony smiled and settled into the bed and said, "Just like a boy scout. Always prepared."

Steve got up on his knees and sat back a little, but he reached down and put a hand over Tony's mouth and said, "That's enough out of you." Tony licked his hand, and Steve smiled a little at him and said, "You're going to pay for that."

"No. Please. Don't. Stop," Tony said when Steve had pulled his hand away, deadpan and droll. "Seriously, what the fuck? How hard is it to open a bottle? I'm not getting any younger, Steve."

"One of these days," he said as he got the bottle open and poured a generous helping onto his fingers, "I'm gonna gag you so you can't say a fucking word."

Tony gasped. "Language, Steve!"

He rolled his eyes. "One _goddamned_ time as a joke—"

"What would Mama Rogers think of you?"

"Right at this moment? She wouldn't want to know. I swear to god, I'm going to gag you," he said, working the lubricant between his fingers to warm it up.

"Would you now?" Tony said, his voice husky, and Steve glanced up and saw that his pupils had been blown wide.

"Yeah— _shit_." He grimaced and looked around and, with one hand covered in lube, he grabbed a pillow from the end of the bed and said, "Work with me, here. I've only got one hand at the moment."

Tony must have been pretty far gone with want if he didn't even put up a fight. He just lifted his ass off the bed and let Steve shove a pillow beneath him, and he adjusted himself and preened a little and said, "You think about that a lot, don't you?"

"What?"

"Doing that sort of thing to me. Controlling me. Dominating me. Don't deny it. I can see the way you're flushing just from the very thought of it. You like the idea of me beneath you, writhing, submissive, a slave to your every whim and desire."

Steve just folded Tony's legs and began to finger Tony's hole, sliding one in and gently working him like he'd done so many times in the past. Tony sucked in a sharp breath with the first finger, but he relaxed a little once Steve had begun to stretch him in earnest, first one, then two, and then three, pushing in further every now and again to brush against that most sensitive area that, true to what he'd remembered, made Tony gasp and mutter a, "Fuck, _there_. There, _fuck_. Keep going." God, it had been so long since he'd done this, but it was like riding a bicycle. Once you knew how to please your Tony Stark, it was kind of hard to forget.

"Would you like that?" he asked after a few minutes of working Tony open, watching as Tony lay back, eyes closed, bliss and relaxation and desperate want playing out over his face.

Tony hummed a little then said, "Tell me what you want, Steve. Tell me what you want to do to me."

Determining that Tony was stretched enough, he pulled his fingers away, which earned him a little whine from Tony, and he applied a little more lube to his cock then suddenly realized that, while he was clean, that was still no excuse not to be careful about things—

"Tony, I don't have any condoms."

"So?"

" _So_?"

Tony picked his head up and looked at him, eyes glazed and flush spread from his cheeks down to his chest. "We never had any use for them before."

"That was a long time ago," he murmured.

"Do you have anything?"

"No."

"Have you been tested recently?"

"…no."

Tony just groaned and fell back against the pillow. "I trust you. I was just tested recently. I'm good. But I trust you. Now just fuck me already. Jesus."

Steve hesitated only a moment before the sight of Tony, laid out and loose before him made his cock twitch in anticipation, and he lined himself up and said, "Ready?"

"Just fucking plow me, Steve. You never had any issues with it before."

He swallowed before he pushed the tip in, and though he wanted to watch Tony's face, he couldn't help but watch the way his cock slipped into that supple pink and slackened hole, watching as it disappeared in as he pushed all the way down to the hilt, Tony's hips hitching with Steve's every slow and measured move, and when Tony was fully seated on his cock, Tony swallowed and said, "Tell me, Steve. Tell me what you want to do to me."

Christ, was he _trying_ to kill him?

So, he told him. As he thrust into him, taking him, pounding him, he spilled out every unholy thing that had crossed his mind from the moment Bucky had put the stupid idea in his head. How he wanted to collar Tony, leash him, bind him, make him kneel before him, fuck his mouth without mercy, make him crawl, keep him loose and wet and pliable and ready for him at all times, make him beg for Steve's cock, make him beg to be taken, make him beg to be used however Steve saw fit. He couldn't tell if Tony was actually into it or not, but he seemed to be doing well enough judging by the moaning and the keening and the precome that was smearing into his belly.

"I want you to be mine," he finally whispered to him, "now and forever. I want you to want to be mine."

"I want— I want—" Tony said, panting, breathless.

"What? Tell me what you want."

"I want to be yours, Steve," he said, his voice wrecked and needy and just a shade breathless. "I want to be yours."

He came unannounced, emptying his spend into Tony, pumping through the aftershocks, and teasing out the last of his orgasm, the squelch of lube and come sounding downright depraved to his ear. He hovered above Tony a moment, and he was about to collapse on top of him when he realized Tony hadn't come yet, his cock still hard and curving against his belly. He swallowed and tried to see through the stars in his eyes, and he reached down and grasped hold of Tony's cock, and Tony grunted at the friction, but it didn't take him long to come to his own orgasm, and Steve worked him through it as Tony shot come all over his own chest and belly, and after they'd calmed, and after they'd both come back to their heads, Tony looked down at himself and said, "I forgot how messy you are."

"Me?" he asked and snorted a laugh.

"And after I just took a nice, clean shower, too," he mused and dipped a finger into the come on his chest. He swirled some on the tip, met Steve's eye, and then stuck his finger in his mouth, and Steve closed his eyes and said, "You're so goddamned lucky I'm done for a while."

"Mmm…why? What would you do to me? God, I feel so used."

Steve opened his eyes and frowned at Tony, but Tony just dipped his finger in the come again and stuck it in his mouth.

"I like when you use me. God, I'm going to be feeling you for a week."

"Please stop tasting yourself."

"Why? Isn't that what you wanted from me?"

Steve moaned and squeezed his eyes shut yet again, and Tony snorted a laugh and said, "I forgot how much fun it is to get you worked up. I should make you clean this up with your tongue."

Steve opened his eyes once more, and though his mind was very much for the idea of going another round, his dick felt otherwise. Still, he leaned over Tony and, beginning just below his navel, began to lap up the spilled come, the action earning him a breathy exhale and a, "Jesus fuck, I didn't think you'd actually do it!"

"Yes, you did," he murmured into Tony's breastbone, Tony's taste on his tongue. "You wouldn't have said it otherwise."

"I forgot how well you know me," he said and squeaked a little as Steve reached up and, Tony's spend on his tongue, crushed their mouths together, forcing his tongue into Tony's mouth and forcing Tony to taste himself more than he could ever hope to get off his fingertip.

"God, you're so debauched," Tony murmured as they broke away, saliva and come on their lips. "Everyone thinks I'm the pervert. No one ever believed it was you."

"No one ever knew me as well as you."

Tony hummed a little, and he reached out and ran his fingers through Steve's damp hair, and he said, "Well, as much fun as this was—"

Steve's heart stopped. No, not yet. Just a little longer. The night. He'd promised Steve the night.

"—I am not waking up tomorrow morning stuck to your sheets because your come ran out of my ass. So, uh, can we, maybe, get cleaned up?"

Oh, thank god.

Steve exhaled a breath in relief, and he nodded and sat up a little and said, "Yeah."

So, they showered again, this time less luxuriating and more just to get cleaned up, and changed back into the clothes they'd thrown off before their lovemaking. Steve thought about stripping the bed and changing the sheets, but that seemed like too much effort, and he was fucking tired now and just wanted to sleep, so he led Tony back out into the living room and pulled him down on top of him on the couch, shoving the clean laundry to the one end and plopping his feet onto the pile, Tony sprawled out over top of him.

"Jesus, it's like college all over again," Tony murmured. "Remember that?"

"Yeah," he replied, rubbing his hand over Tony's back. "I do."

"Mmm…so, this relationship. Wanna tell me what happened?"

He frowned. "What relationship?"

"The bad one you were in."

He shrugged but didn't stop rubbing Tony's back. "Nothing to tell."

"Bullshit. You said you didn't even tell the Hardy Boys about it. Must've been pretty bad to keep them out of the loop."

"I guess I thought I could handle it."

"And?"

"I did. Eventually. I… Some of the things I said I wanted to do to you—"

"I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it."

"Not because I want to hurt you, though. I want… I'd want you to like it."

"I think I might."

"Really?"

"Well, baby steps. Not sure I'd be down with being hog-tied right off the bat. But yeah, I think… I don't think I'd be entirely against it." He nestled closer to Steve. "'s long as it's with you."

Steve reached out and grabbed an afghan from the back of the couch, and he shook it out and draped it over them, and Tony sighed a little and finally relaxed against him, murmuring, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Steve said and pressed a kiss to the crown of Tony's head.

~*~

The morning sun was peeking through the blinds when Steve next awoke, and he went to stretch a little when he realized there was a Tony-shaped lump lying atop him, his body somehow having slid into that crevice between Steve and the back of the couch during the night. Steve felt him stir, and he swallowed as he realized that this was it. They'd seen each other again, they'd had dinner, they'd made love, they'd slept, and now Tony was going to hurt him the way he'd hurt Tony once upon a time, telling him though he'd always love him, he couldn't trust him not to hurt him again.

Tony yawned and nestled against Steve, but he seemed to remember pretty quickly that he wasn't where he was used to waking up, and he sat up a little and met Steve's eyes, confusion turning into realization rather quickly. He blinked and looked around the room, and Steve swallowed and took a breath and waited for it, waited for the hammer to fall.

Or said 'fuck it' and took fate into his own hands.

" _Stay_ ," he said, his voice soft and loving, his hand on Tony's arm as Tony stared into his eyes and looked for something that Steve desperately hoped that he found.

They remained as they were, Steve lying and Tony half-sitting up, their eyes doing a dance as Tony seemingly contemplated his next movements. Steve didn't want to beg — didn't want to make Tony feel like he was being forced into a decision — but he stared up at Tony and hoped to God that he was conveying to Tony all the love and trust that he knew Tony was searching for.

They stayed in those positions for what Steve felt was an agonizingly long period of time, and just when he was sure Tony was summing up the courage to say, " _Well, it's been fun, but…_ " Tony just closed his eyes and settled back down against Steve, his head pillowed against Steve's broad, muscled pecs, and he exhaled a breath and snuggled closer to Steve, putting his arm over Steve's waist as Steve felt him drift off again.

Tony stayed.


End file.
